Random Urban Violence
Author: Ken Homer Issue: 2025-03-19
Random Urban Violence
by Ken Homer
Saturday night my wife and I were headed to the Herbst Theatre to hear a concert by jazz violinist Regina Carter. Since we hit major traffic on the way in, we were running a bit behind schedule and had no time to order a sit-down meal. So, we ordered sandwiches from Max’s deli and sat outside on a bench at the Opera Plaza eating our dinner. Then, we walked the two blocks to the Herbst when I realized that the dessert I bought was still sitting on the bench where we ate. I gave my wife her ticket and told her that I’d be right back.
I ran back to Max’s and grabbed my dessert then hustled down the block to the Herbst. There was a large crowd waiting for the light to change. As I walked across the street, I noticed a man standing next to the traffic light control box. He looked like he might be homeless. He made brief eye contact with me which he broke off almost immediately. There were two older women just in front of me who were moving rather slowly as we approached the curb so, I stepped to their right to pass them and as I stepped up to the curb I was within a foot or two of the homeless man. What happened next was so unexpected and happened so fast, that I still have a hard time believing it happened at all.
The first thing I became aware of was a yell, the sort of yell that they teach you in martial arts. Next, I saw something moving very rapidly toward my face and I started to turn away. Too late. His fist collided with my cheek just under my right eye. An explosion of white light filled my vision, and I nearly fell to the ground under the impact. “Holy shit, that was a right cross!” I thought as I touched my hand to my cheek. I looked up in time to see the man who hit me disappear into the crowd of people on Van Ness. The two women who were walking in front of me came over and helped me to a ledge where I could sit down.
Someone called 911 on their cell phone but it connected to CHP which was not helpful. One of the women went inside to try and find my wife and to alert security. I sat there holding my face and trying to get my bearings. I knew where I was, but everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, it was as if I was watching myself from some vantage point not quite outside of my body, but not exactly inside it either. Security showed up and I asked for some ice they held the door for me while I walked inside. Then they vanished. I waited a minute and, when they didn’t return, I crossed the lobby to the bar and asked the young woman there for some ice. She handed me a cup of ice and when I took my hand away from my eye to get some cocktail napkins, her face registered a look of shock. “Take all that you need,” she said.
Judging by her face, I figured I must look a fright. I reached up to discover an egg the size of a large marble had formed where the blow had landed. I thanked her, put the ice on my face and made my way to the theatre entrance. I opened my wallet with one hand and asked the ticket taker to remove my ticket for me. I told him I needed to find my wife; he told me to go through the door on the left and when I began to stagger he repeated his instructions to me. I realized that I was in shock and that I desperately needed to sit down. Just then my wife appeared from downstairs. Horrified by my appearance she ran over to me asking what had happened.
I told her the story and a woman nearby who overheard us guided me to a large armchair and helped me to sit down. The two of them stayed there with me, holding my hand and talking to me, although I don’t really remember much of what they said. My wife asked if I needed her to take me to the emergency room, but the thought of sitting for hours waiting to be seen at SF General was too much. “Just get me inside and let me rest.”
We went in and found our seats. The now huge bruise and my bloodshot eye was attracting a fair amount of attention. Diane asked the people around us if anyone had any aspirin or Advil, and a woman behind us found some Advil in her purse. The lights went down, and I just allowed the music to wash over me as I held the ice to my face. I disappeared inside myself using everything I knew about healing. I grounded my energy through my feet, sinking my roots all the way to the center of the earth, then opened the top of my head to the heavens and when I felt the two streams of energy meet in my heart, I channeled it through my arm and out my hand to my cheek. I visualized light streaming from my hand to my cheek the same way Dr. Crusher on Star Trek would use that device to spray healing light on a wounded crew member. By intermission I think I was coming out of the shock.
A woman who works for Cal Performances came by and invited me to come and meet the band backstage after the show. I thanked her and declined. I found it hard to picture myself meeting a woman who won the MacArthur Prize while clutching an ice pack to my swollen face. I could just picture myself saying: “Oh what a pleasure to meet you. If I had only known we’d meet I wouldn’t have gotten punched in the face!”
I was able to actually watch some of the second set although I had double vision which made it hard to focus. My wife drove us home.
Sunday proved to be a very hard day as I found myself sinking into depression. My mind just kept going over the events again and again. I began to feel both foolish and vulnerable in a way that made me feel tremendously small. I sat and tried every mediation technique I knew to no lasting avail. Looking in the mirror at my disfigurement only made me feel more fragile as I considered how often I’ll have to tell people the story of what happened.
It’s now 26 hours after the assault. I consider how lucky I am. Had he hit me just slightly to the left he would have broken my nose. Slightly lower would have fractured my jaw. Had he a knife, well.... I don’t want to go there. Many people both strangers and friends have reached out to me. I am in pain, I am uncomfortable, unsettled, swollen and numb. Ice and arnica have brought the swelling down, and no bones are broken.
I will not allow this to prevent me from going into the city. Yet something has been broken here that is hard to fit words to. I am not particularly angry at the man who did this. I can understand the anger of someone who wants to hit another person, for I have experienced that feeling. I am acutely aware that thanks to choices elected leaders have made over the last 20 years that there is a large populace of disturbed people out there who need help not punishment. As I look at posturing and listen to the rhetoric in the 2000 presidential campaign, I am not inclined to think that either side will do much to address the causes and conditions that led to my being on the receiving end of one man’s angry outburst.
Ken Homer • March 2000
Related:
- Ken Homer (author)
- 2025 (year)
- Topics: Health and Wellbeing, Narrative and Storytelling