On a rainy Monday morning in Withington, Manchester, the quiet hum of the local Costa Coffee was punctuated by the presence of Paul Jackson, a homeless man in his early 50s, and his best friend Kyle. Paul, hailing from Beswick, was a familiar face in the area—broad, bearded, and known for his rare acts of kindness, like tipping baristas despite his own struggles. He was usually subdued and often drunk, but those who knew him said he was always aware of his surroundings, sometimes making observations that surprised those around him.
That morning, Paul and Kyle sat near the window, charging their phones and watching the rain. Paul drifted off to sleep, surrounded by a community of regulars: Sharon, who has been homeless for nine years; Steve, who speaks in monologues and layers socks instead of wearing shoes; Andrew, an epileptic artist who spends hours drawing; and two unnamed men on old bicycles, always ready to chat in exchange for a borrowed phone. The Withington Costa had become an unspoken gathering place for the area’s homeless and vulnerable, a makeshift community center in a city that often looks the other way.
After his nap, Paul moved to his usual spot outside Sainsbury’s Local. He was a fixture there, just as Kyle had his own post outside the nearby Co-op. Despite the drizzle turning to a downpour, Paul stood outside for most of the day, exchanging greetings with Sharon and accepting a cigarette from a passing cyclist. Sharon later recalled, “He was just standing up, trying to get a few quid.”
By early afternoon, the Costa was so quiet that staff began closing up early. Paul was joined by Louis, a short man with jet-black hair and a boyish energy. Sharon sat outside, and Kyle had returned to his post. Just after 3:30 p.m., Louis left Paul briefly, but when he returned, he found Paul slumped on the ground, his skin blue. Louis and others rushed to help, and a woman ran into the Costa screaming for a defibrillator. Kyle sprinted down the precinct, desperate to reach his friend, but was pulled away as bystanders administered CPR. An ambulance soon arrived, and Paul was rushed to Manchester Royal Infirmary, where he was declared dead due to cardiac arrest.
The tragedy of Paul’s death was compounded by its quiet aftermath. According to Manchester Mill, his passing did not make the news, and as of September 20, 2025, his body remained unclaimed in the hospital mortuary. There were no obituaries, no grieving family members interviewed, and no outpouring of public grief—just a small community left to mourn in their own way.
Paul’s life, like those of many rough sleepers, was a patchwork of hostels, council accommodations, and nights spent on the street. He and Kyle met about a year ago at Rams Lodge, a former hotel repurposed for emergency accommodation under the A Bed Every Night scheme. Both men moved in and out of Rams Lodge and other hostels, sometimes even staying at the airport. Paul was dependent on alcohol, and his most recent ejection from Rams Lodge was for drinking on the premises. “But he needed it,” Kyle said, acknowledging the depth of Paul’s struggles.
Yet, Paul had hope. He had recently been accepted into a detox clinic and was looking forward to regaining weight and getting a passport to go to Spain. “As soon as he was accepted into detox he wanted to get out fat,” Kyle recalled. “Then he wanted to get a passport and go to Spain. He had dreams. But like proper, achievable ones.” Despite his optimism, Paul confided to Kyle that he had no family, and even his closest friends knew little about his life before homelessness.
Sharon, who had only known Paul for a few months, remembered him as generous and kind. Shop workers in the precinct recalled him as part of the landscape, a quiet presence in the daily rhythm of the neighborhood. The immediate process following Paul’s death was routine—no different from any other person without next of kin or a fixed address. However, Manchester Mill reported that his case might prompt a Safeguarding Adults Review by the Manchester Safeguarding Partnership, though inquiries about this went unanswered.
Paul’s story is not unique. Across the Atlantic in Kalamazoo, Michigan, local officials are grappling with the challenge of providing shelter for people like Paul as winter approaches. On September 9, 2025, a Request For Proposal (RFP) was released to find providers to operate winter shelter programs in Kalamazoo County beginning November 1, 2025. The county is contributing $396,750, and the city is adding $300,000, for a total of about $700,000 to ensure unhoused individuals have access to safe, warm, and supportive shelter during the cold months.
The shelter effort is a collaboration among the Kalamazoo County Continuum of Care, United Way of South Central Michigan, Kalamazoo County Government, and the City of Kalamazoo, according to a news release cited by MLive. The RFP seeks providers who can expand or establish winter shelter operations, with a particular focus on adult men and those not engaged in long-term programming. Proposals are due by October 9, 2025, and the operational period will run from November 1, 2025, to March 31, 2026.
Patrese Griffin, who leads the Continuum of Care through United Way, emphasized the broader significance of the effort: “Winter shelter is about more than staying warm. It’s about dignity, safety and stability.” Kalamazoo Mayor David Anderson echoed this sentiment, noting, “Homelessness doesn’t stop at city or county borders. We stand alongside the County, United Way and the Continuum of Care to expand shelter capacity when it’s needed the most, this winter.”
The RFP stresses the importance of trauma-informed, culturally responsive services that connect guests with resources for stability beyond the winter months. In January 2025, the city supported the “Heads in Beds” program, which provided hotel stays for homeless individuals during cold snaps. Mike Lumbard, a beneficiary of the program, said, “It keeps us safe, it keeps us off the streets.”
Back in Withington, Paul’s friends and fellow rough sleepers are left to grapple with his absence. Sharon, now 60, became homeless after leaving her daughter’s father. She writes poetry and songs and, on the night she spoke with the Manchester Mill reporter, she offered a few lines in tribute to Paul. Her final words lingered: “When they find me, what will they do?”
As communities in both Manchester and Kalamazoo respond to homelessness with varying degrees of urgency and compassion, Paul’s story serves as a quiet reminder of the human lives behind the statistics. The camaraderie, ambitions, and dreams of those living on the margins are often overlooked until tragedy strikes. For those who knew Paul, his memory endures not in headlines, but in the stories and small acts of kindness that defined his life.
