No Holiday From Pain on Skid Row : Thanksgiving: Some anticipate a time of extended generosity, but most try to avoid the misery of being away from family and friends.

Homeless Rick is very thankful today. He figures to be so busy helping others enjoy their holiday that he won’t have time to think about how miserable his Thanksgiving truly is.

Rick, who declined to give his real name, is a clerk at the Midnight Mission in downtown Skid Row. He knows today will be frantic with phone calls, visits from more advantaged people bringing in meals and money for the homeless, and the continual line of men, women and children filing into the mission for a traditional turkey dinner.

Keeping busy, Rick reasons, is a way of forgetting about the pain he feels because he is destined to spend the holidays on “the Row,” away from his family and his seven children.

“I used to say that the holidays were just another day, but deep down inside, I know it’s different,” said the 43-year-old, his thin, freshly scrubbed face etched with sadness as he sat in an office at the mission. “That’s the way a lot of people down here feel. They try to pretend it’s just another day.

“Because . . . what is Thanksgiving or Christmas when you’re living in a box?”

Rick’s sentiments echoed the feelings of many denizens of Skid Row, of the estimated 5,000 people who make their home on the cold, hard pavement and of the social workers and store owners who cater to their needs. The holiday season, they said, is a time for most Skid Row regulars to block out memories of families left behind, prosperous jobs, good times with friends. Some may visit relatives who live close by for dinner, but others will stay away out of embarrassment or fear.

“Yeah, the holidays make you want to be home,” said Benjamin Cook, 30, who has been on Skid Row since January. His family lives just miles away in South-Central Los Angeles, but he will not be paying them a visit today or on Christmas.

“They’re very close, but very far away, if you catch what I’m saying,” he said, running his hand through his uncombed hair and eating soggy oatmeal out of a Styrofoam cup on Los Angeles Street.

Von Weems, 38, a longtime Skid Row resident, has a different outlook on the question of family.

“My family’s right here,” he said determinedly, sitting on the steps of a building next to the Union Rescue Mission. He motioned to three figures on the ground who were covered with blankets. The blankets heaved deeply and regularly in a rhythm of sleep.

“This is our family,” Weems said with a slight slur. “We take care of each other. We enjoy what we have.”

It is possible to find along the bleak alleys and sidewalks that constitute the downtown Skid Row district a sense of seasonal optimism. Not unlike the retailers who anticipate hordes of holiday shoppers each year, Skid Row occupants look forward to a month of free handouts and more productive panhandling. Social workers anticipate an uptick in donations. Preachers expect more payoff from their sermons to the down-and-outers.

“The mood is real high, and there’s more togetherness among all the cliques, y’understand,” said one gravel-voiced, five-year Skid Row veteran, who just referred to himself as Pete.

“All the alcoholics are more together, all the dopeheads are more together. There’s none of that down-and-out stuff.” In addition, Pete added as he smiled through gapped teeth, “you also see more bottles on the street at this time than at any other time of year.”

Willie Davis, 41, could hardly contain his excitement: “All these people will come here, handing out $20 bills. I’ll get all this new stuff, new clothing, new blankets. I like this time of year. I even put two Christmas trees in the street last year.”

Others were more jaded.

“What the holidays really mean down here,” said Mike Neely, head of the Homeless Outreach Program, a grass-roots organization that helps transients find shelter and clothing, “is that a large group of ‘home’ people get to come down there and feel good about themselves. There’s all sorts of media attention, news cameras, radio-thons. Then after the holidays, it’s all over. But these people who live down here have the same problems Jan. 15 that they had on Thanksgiving Day.”

He did not attempt to hide the edge in his voice.

Still, some people said, the season can bring life-changing inspiration. “Some feel they want to make amends with their families, start all over,” said David Bryant, a consultant with the city’s Community Development Department Homeless Services Coordination Unit.

But the blessings of the season must be weighed against the dreariness of everyday existence. When pressed, most people on the Row seemed to agree that Thanksgiving and Christmas are just as hard as any other day--except that the food is better and there’s more of it.

As Clancy Imislund, managing director of the Midnight Mission, put it: “The mood just does not change dramatically during this time of year. Skid Row is not a place, but a state of mind.”

A Tuesday walk along Skid Row revealed little sense of a pending holiday. It was early morning and the soggy remains of a rainstorm the night before were still in evidence. Dirty, ragged blankets that had been soaked were drying on fences in front of parking lots and missions. Many people who had not found any sort of covering sat idly against a wall near Crocker and 5th streets, heads bowed toward their damp clothes. The nippy air was filled with cigarette smoke.

In front of the Union Rescue Mission, five men sat on boxes, playing a raucous game of dominoes. One of them, James Campbell, 23, said this would be his first holiday on Skid Row.

“I thank God I’m here to witness Thanksgiving, but it’s going to be very hard for me,” said Campbell. He said that he’s only been in town a month, and that he has been trying to make connections in the music industry to sell some lyrics he’s written.

He said the companionship on the Row was no substitute for his real family.

“I don’t even know these guys,” he said, pointing to his playing partners.