> ## Content Index > Fetch the complete content index at: https://www.smdp.com/llms.txt > Use this file to discover other available public pages before exploring further. # Cash-strapped and walking the line - URL: https://www.smdp.com/cash-strapped-and-walking-the-line/ - Published: 2006-03-17T16:00:00.000Z - Updated: 2026-10-23T17:22:02.000Z - Author: Kevin Herrera - Tags: local, Pacific Palisades, #archive-import, Homeless *A slice of humble pie gets dished out in park* PALISADES PARK — On a crisp, unforgiving day last week, Santa Monica’s desperate lined up nearly 150 deep, each in search of a hot meal. I was no different. On Wednesday and Thursday afternoons, the down and out know where to go — Palisades Park, along the Pacific Ocean bluffs, where a prepared meal awaits them free of charge. Many lined up early, at least an hour before the food was served, wanting to be near the front while the helpings were still hot. Most were middle-aged men, but there was a fair share of married couples too, women in their early 20s, even seniors. And then there was me — huddled between them — cold, hungry and curious to know what it’s like to have to swallow your pride along with a meal, standing in lines and being glared at by passersby, just so you can calm the hunger pains for a few more hours. It was embarrassing, but only for a moment, for I knew I had a home to go back to. For most of the others, this was it. They had no other options. “This is all I’m going to eat today, the only cooked meal you can get all week, really,” one 40-something man told me as he clutched his white paper plate, soon to be stacked with rubbery penne pasta, bland vegetarian chili, cheese sandwiches (if you were lucky), donuts and tangerines. The number “22” was scrawled in black on the back of the plate to mark his place in line and ensure that the volunteers running the event — Helping Other People Eat (HOPE) — didn’t violate city law by hosting a “picnic” for more than 150 people. In 2002, City Hall passed an ordinance intended to regulate outdoor feedings of the homeless, requiring people like HOPE’s Paul Grymkowski, who organizes the feedings, to obtain an event permit for groups of more than 150 people in public places. If food is served, a health permit from Los Angeles County is also required. Officials said the intent was to protect public health while encouraging the hosts of these picnics to join with established service providers who have the proper facilities to ensure food quality. However, there are those who have the sneaking suspicion that the law was truly designed to squash what has become an eyesore at one of the city’s premier attractions. The ACLU and National Lawyers Guild filed a lawsuit preventing the implementation of the law, saying it violates the First Amendment. The issue is now before a three-member panel of appellate court judges. With the possibility that the picnics could be so regulated that volunteers might pack up and go home, I decided to experience a food line for myself and try to catch a glimpse of what it is like to be homeless, and truth be told, to critique the food. While waiting in line, I was fearful that people around me would discover that I had some cash on hand and would run me out, beating me over the head with their backpacks. But it didn’t take long to let my guard down. Those around me were so eager to lend a helping hand. Some even offered to give me some of their food when I asked how I could get a plate. Imagine, these folks hadn’t had a decent meal in weeks, maybe months or even years, and here they were offering me something to eat. Now, there were some whom I’d prefer not to cross paths with, including the guy off to the right of me who kept twitching. Then there was the Lothario behind me, trying to entice a fetching young female who would have none of it, turning her back and, ultimately, walking away. But for the most part, people were pleasant and seemed to be having a great time socializing with their friends. While the food was about as appetizing, and had the same consistency, as my great Aunt June’s mucus-like “(expletive) on a Shingle,” the conversation was full of flavor, with strangers sharing jokes while others sang songs or exchanged information about where to get food or how to avoid the police. The atmosphere felt very much like a picnic, albeit a shady one, where loved ones gather and share in the joy of the moment. I couldn’t help thinking that for many, this is one of the few moments they can feel somewhat normal again. Looking around, my view of the down and out began to change, so much so that if someone does ask if I can help them get something to eat, I will, primarily because I never want them to have to eat that food again. I tried to finish my plate, but I couldn’t. I guess I wasn’t hungry enough to scarf the quickly cooling dish down. I did eat my doughnuts though, and left my tangerines for those around me to finish. I guess the food wasn’t too terrible — the nacho-flavored tortilla chip added a nice twist to the chili. Still, I don’t have to eat it every day. “What did they serve?” asked one homeless man of another, as the two strolled down the Third Street Promenade shortly after the feeding. “Same old sh--, pasta and beans.” “I’m sick of that crap. I won’t even eat it.” I thought to myself, how ungrateful. Perhaps, beggars can be choosers. *Originally published in the Santa Monica Daily Press print edition on March 17, 2006.* [Read the original PDF.](https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/smdp%5Fbackissues/031706.pdf?ref=smdp.com)