THE REVOLVING DOOR

What a subway killing reveals about mental illness and homelessness

- ADAM ISCOE

Not long ago, on Sixth Avenue in Chelsea, I walked past a man in a black coat, who was hunched over, licking the sidewalk. He murmured to himself and passersby. For a moment, it occurred to me that he might be having a psychotic episode. Then I ducked into a deli, bought lunch, and headed to the office. Should I have called 911? Maybe. The thought didn’t linger long.

This kind of thing happens all the time. Recently, aboard an F train, en route to Brooklyn, I saw a young man reach both hands into his pants and start masturbating. He wore a dirty sweater that was pulled over his head, and his socks were halfway off his feet. There was a cup of coffee and a chicken bone under his seat. An older man with two FreshDirect bags loaded with clothes and takeout containers was stretched out nearby. The young man was crying, and the older man slept. Several straphangers were watching, but it was late at night, and no one seemed particularly interested or concerned. Later, I asked an inpatient psychiatrist at a local hospital about the incident. There was little I could’ve done, he said, adding that the young man likely would have wound up at a hospital sooner or later. Perhaps he had recently been discharged from one. More often than not, people experiencing acute mental distress in public places get picked up by the police or an ambulance and are taken to the emergency room. Sometimes they find their way to a hospital on their own. Other times, something awful happens first.