San Diegans Risk Heat to Link Hands for Homeless

Convoys of buses began arriving before noon Sunday at this tiny speck of western Arizona desert, a sweltering place best known for its unforgiving heat and annual convocations of rock collectors. From San Diego, about 200 miles and a cool breeze to the southwest, came at least 10 busloads carrying more than 450 people.

They didn’t come to shop for Indian jewelry in the many curio shops, nor did they come to look at the humble adobe ruins of the 19th-Century Hagely general store and hotel. And they didn’t come to gaze in wonderment at the magnificent saguaro cacti that stand like sentinels in the great Sonora desert.

They came to stand in line and hold hands, eager to be part of the great human chain stretching from the Pacific to the Atlantic. Their actions reflected those of millions of other Americans nationwide who came out on a holiday weekend to be part of this plea for assistance.

“We couldn’t be there when they placed peace ribbons around the Pentagon, but we did send ribbons to Washington,” said Macky Forror of San Diego, who said one of her children paid for her desert outing. “This time, I wanted to be here. I think it’s great.”

This rugged stretch of Arizona desert presented a particular challenge. Organizers of Hands Across America had virtually given up on the possibility of finding enough people to man isolated stretches of Arizona and New Mexico. But these folks viewed it as a challenge.

“We think that’s where they need us most,” explained Peter Meisen, an organizer for Self Help and Resource Exchange (SHARE), a Roman Catholic group that sponsored 10 buses from San Diego.

The participants had gathered before dawn in a suburban shopping mall in La Mesa. Each paid $35--or $50 if they wanted a commemorative T-shirt--to show they cared about hunger and homelessness in the United States. Most seemed to disagree with President Reagan’s recent assertion that hunger was more a problem of lack of information rather than a lack of means.

“That’s foolish,” Forror said of the President’s remark. “I’m sure there’s plenty of need.”

As dawn broke, the buses rolled across the sprawling suburbs of San Diego County, over the rock-strewn coastal range, through the irrigated fields of Imperial County, across the Colorado River and into the harsh desert of Arizona. The site of the giant saguaros and the jagged desert peaks in the distance seemed to confirm that this was the place to be.

Individually, participants’ motivations varied, but all seemed eager to demonstrate their belief in the cause. Combatting hunger and homelessness may seem an unlikely crusade in the self-oriented 1980s, but there was a wellspring of support evident. On this day, at least, it seemed that people wanted to belong, they wanted to stand up and be counted, even to sing their song.

“The need is out there, but no one in the United States wanted to know about it or do anything about it,” said Bobbi Donnelly of San Diego, a mother whose enthusiasm for the project was evident. “This is the only way that they’ll do anything. . . . It’s a great cause and a nice way to spend Memorial Day weekend.”

Added Donald Cirlin, a communications worker from San Diego: “It shows people’s efforts to grasp problems that face them and reach out and help others.”

Apart from these central goals, participants were also attracted by the camaraderie and the sheer scope of the undertaking. It promised to be a good time.

“I love fanciful scenarios,” said Dorothy van Joolen, an editor from San Diego.

After crossing into Arizona, riders on one bus began to fortify themselves for the upcoming ritual, chowing down on sandwiches, fruit, chocolate and other snacks stashed away for the trip. They had been warned in advance to bring food, water and other essentials. On the outskirts of Quartzsite, they began to make their final preparations.

To protect themselves from the unrelenting desert sun, riders brought out hats, sunglasses and tubes of sunscreen lotion. The long hot trip also took its toll on some of the buses, which experienced a couple breakdowns en route, but mostly on the trip home.

As the caravan reached its destination, apprehension was clearly evident, as was confusion--and even disbelief that the uncomfortable five-hour bus ride could finally be coming to an end.

“Are we there yet?” they asked.

“Where’s the line?” was another common question.

On the dusty, bone-dry streets of Quartzsite, there was a festive air. Groups mingled in joyful confusion. Buses, seemingly from all over southern California and the Southwest, were packed in along Interstate 10’s business route. A group of American Indian youths was among those trying to uphold the line.

On the streets, the young and the old, the black and the white, the brown and the red all held hands, occasionally breaking into spontaneous song. Their exact position in the line--indeed, even the exact location of the line--seemed to matter little.

“Look, a line!” someone on the bus finally shouted.

There, indeed, was a line--a rough line, meandering somewhat awkwardly along the curb--but nonetheless surely a line of people holding hands, ready to celebrate the day. Many were holding miniature American flags.

After hours of ceaseless desert, the sight of others holding hands clearly dispelled fears on one bus that riders would never meet up with the line. Here, there was plenty of company.

Among Quartzsite’s 1,000 or so full-time residents, the large turnout seemed to be a surprise--but a good opportunity to make a buck.

“I never thought they’d make it here,” said Dennis Cushman, a curio shop manager who opened up in an effort to attract some unexpected Sunday business.

Like other businessmen in this town of curio shops, recreational vehicle parks and gas stations, Cushman provided free water to the visitors. The weather was a favored topic of conversation among the locals and the visiting hand-holders.

“I’d say it’s about a hundred (degrees) right now,” said Cushman, seeming to sniff the temperature with a well-practiced sixth sense of which he was clearly proud. “This is nothing, though. In the summer it gets up to 130 in the shade here. Folks don’t believe that, but we got the thermometers out to prove it.”

On this day, the dry heat was at least bearable. As the hour approached noon--the time when people from coast to coast would join hands--the excitement mounted, as did the confusion.

Organizers in cars sped by exhorting participants to “Stretch out!”

One fact soon became apparent: the stretched-out arms would certainly cover metropolitan Quartzsite, but there would be gaps to the east and west. In both directions, distant saw-toothed, sun-drenched peaks with names such as Dome Rock, Harquahala and Eagle Tail seemed to signal a dare that would not be met on this day.

But no matter. At noon, people held hands and imagined that their acts were part of a line spanning from coast to coast. Some people sang, others danced. One man played a trumpet amid a dancing circle. No one seemed disappointed or discouraged, just happy to have been a part of it all on a memorable Memorial Day weekend.

“I imagined myself sending energy all the way to New York and L.A., and receiving it back,” said Donald Cirlin, after boarding the bus to return to San Diego.

Added Russell Pettigrew, a craftsman from San Diego: “I like to think this was a step forward for humanity. I hope people are beginning to see that we’re all in this world together.”