Abstract
Finding this book on the dining room table, my 19-year-old son remarked to his friend, "Now there's folks with two strikes against them." Home is where the heart is. Home is where you're from. Home is family and friends. Home is shelter. Home is safety. Home is privacy. Home is freedom to be yourself. Home is each person's castle. Homelessness is none of these. To be "mentally ill" is to be distressed, shunned, labeled, stigmatized, institutionalized, zombiized, cipherized, marginalized, and made powerless and dependent. Mental illness may be all of these. Safely sequestered in my sturdy home on a tree-lined street in northwest Washington, DC, I rarely witness the problems of these million or more Americans. Each week, on my way to a course on Puccini operas, I pass a Washington grate man. He "owns" his grate and its warmth in winter. I say hello; he nods in recognition and
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