One of my worst experiences came in the form of a Black man who turned up in the afternoon looking for help. He was a middle-aged family man who had worked at Ground Zero in the Marriott Hotel for 15 years. He had on a checkered shirt and clean khaki slacks with a knit cap that accented his large, sad brown eyes. He didn't live in the Zone, so I had to refuse him aid. What good did it do to give a destitute man referrals when he needed assistance immediately? He was so broke that he begged me for a token so he could ride the subway. Humanitarianism suppressed by rules that came down from people who weren't out in the field and didn't have to look into the eyes of that broken and desperate individual. He broke my heart, and I felt helpless. The mental health worker, who spoke to him ended up in tears. He was one step away from the man who slept on the subway train, through no fault of his own, but definitely ours.

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