One of the first things Rich Boam does is show me a letter he wrote to Portland Mayor Ted Wheeler. It’s a good letter; eloquent, persuasive, well considered and a little jaded. This is as good an introduction as I could have asked to the man. With his rich baritone and expressive articulate speaking style, he seems destined to find fame as a radio host or round table news presenter. Right now, he’s just trying to get one foot in front of the other.
“I’m a smart guy, and I can run with whatever I’m given, but I got nothing,” he said. “I have some medical things that need to be done, and if I had housing I could run with it, I know I could.”
Rich is a lifelong Oregonian, or close enough. He moved to the area as a child, attending Capitol Elementary School, and later high school in Vernonia and St. Paul. After 46 years in the region, Rich, like many of us, has noticed some changes.
“The Portland I knew when I was 12 and the Portland I know now is not the same. And it’s not fair to think that it would be, but it doesn’t have the substance that I thought it would have.
“What Portland’s doing right now is just giving a bunch of lip service until the crowd is moved from one place to the next place. I’m not saying anything that people already don’t know. It does mean that it’s fairly evident that nothing is going to be done except a lot of talk.”
Rich has been a musician for almost as long as he’s been an Oregonian, starting in elementary school.
“The pep band did a version of ‘Hawaii Five-O’ and this guy had a full drum set. I was in awe. I said, ‘That’s what I want to do’. My parents got a little practice pad, and I took to it and took to it well. I made first chair when I was 12 and never looked back. I played professionally in Portland with a few bands, nothing that ever made it too big, but some bands that went around Portland from '84 to '89.”
“Then, because I lived in an apartment and they frown on drums, I picked up a guitar. I’ve been playing guitar for about 18 years and I’m pretty good. It’s easier to write songs on a guitar than on drums so that helps out. I’ve dabbled here and played with a couple guys here and there over the years.”
Even music is affected by housing status, though. When I ask if he is likely to be playing anywhere soon, he sighs.
“People don’t realize, if you don’t have a home to come from, everything is exponentially harder. Where am I gonna put a guitar?”
This is a recurring theme in the conversation: how important just a small service can be, a place to start. Rich even has a rent stipend coming in, but it hasn’t helped with housing.
“I get $545 a month, but I can’t find a place in town,” he said. “I’ve gone everywhere. There’s no opportunities. I’m just doing what I’m doing until I go someplace where I can.”
When asked about the paper, Rich turns positive.
“As long as I have a product I can stand behind I’m cool. I’m good with that. That makes it bearable to be out there. I have some of the most interesting conversations with the people out there that would surprise you.
“It keeps you from stereotyping,” Rich said. “I really think that’s important. You find out just how diverse this city is. I don’t know where these people are hiding because I don’t hear their voice, but they’re out there; they’re nice people to talk to. Like I said, it’s a paper that I can read and stand behind. That’s the only reason I can sell it.”
One thing he would like to see Portland improve on: mental health services.
“I think the mentally ill that are on the streets right now, if they were taken care of in a different way – hospital, whatever needs to be done – then the homeless population wouldn’t be as bad as it is.
“If those people were dealt with in a proper manner, then giving the homeless a place to stay would be more manageable, more viable.”
Say hello to Rich at his sales turf, outside Walgreens on Northeast Weidler Street and Grand Avenue.
