Homeless Stories page 1Note: I present these stories without editing content. I present them exactly as I copied from the source except to close excessive space between paragraphs because of conflict between their word processor and mine. I won’t correct spelling or grammar because I don’t want to change another’s work without permission. Besides it isn’t like I haven’t made errors either! Other than closing up some space the only change made was to add NOSPAM to e-mail addresses to foil spider programs hunting for addresses to add to mass mailings!
Some of these are straight forward first-person narations of their experiences and some reportage from various news sources. Also you will find fictional accounts based upon the experience of homeless men and women, who authored the work. I have decided not to sepparate them into different categories. I believe you can figure out which is which.I start with a story about an encounter I had and may add more but most will be other people telling of their experiences, asking the questions they had, telling their truths in their own words. I even left in the headers with the change to the e-mail addresses mentioned previously. All copyrights belong to those mentioned in each posting and/or the publications and organizations mentioned. For reprint rights for commercial publications please contact the sources in the postings. Most of these are from an online news group I belong to, the Homeless Peoples’ Network. With this you will read a lot of opinions, take them for what you feel their value is, but read knowing we are telling you about our lives.
Note: The only works I claim rights to are those listed as being mine.
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This is one of mine.
One early Sunday morning I and another homeless man were sitting in the small pagoda by the public library in Riverside (Ca.). An older homeless fellow was ranting loudly at no one in particular. Maybe he was complaining to his god…or Jesus…Hillary Clinton…who knows? A well-dressed woman sat down next to me. She was watching the show. I’m sure that’s how she saw it! She said,”I wonder why they talk to themselves like that?” I looked askance at her. I guess she hadn’t really looked at me when she sat down. Otherwise I can’t see missing the backpack, which I had; a dead give away unless you think I’m a college student! Leaning forward I said, ”Because the rest of you won’t, miss!”
She left rather quickly after that.
Too bad, she looked like she might have something interesting to say.********************************************
Message: 8
Date: Wed, 23 Jan 2002 18:17:48 -0800
From: chance martin <streetsheet@sf-homeless-coalitionNOSPAM.org>
To: "Homeless People's Network" <hpn@lists.is.asu.NOSPAMedu>,
nasna@yahoogroups.NOSPAMcom>
Subject: [Hpn] The Life and Times of a Beggarman TrollThe Life and Times of a Beggarman Troll
by Josh BrandonI live under a San Francisco bridge and panhandle to survive. It¹s a hard life -- one that I did not choose, nor want to continue.
As a longtime San Franciscan I have lived in housing ranging from a Haight-Ashbury flat to a Tenderloin residential hotel. I have earned my living here by working for a community newspaper, for a non-profit agency, and for San Francisco¹s Department of Public Health.
My only immediate family is two Siamese cats, Dungee and TL, and a wide circle of friends.
Contrary to the recent sensational headlines in our daily newspapers, I did not wake up one morning and decide that my life would be better if I simply camped beneath a bridge and asked people for change.
I did, however, wake up one morning, went to work for the Health Department as a homeless death researcher (as I had for nearly three years), and was told I was laid off. The last thing my supervisor told me as I cleaned out my desk was that perhaps I could get on SSI -- a Federal income security program for disabled people.
The bone in my right hip is dying from lack of circulation, which restricts my mobility. Since I have lived on the streets, my hip condition has worsened with severe arthritis. As a result, I now use a cane to go with my pronounced limp.
My meager unemployment benefits barely covered my rent, and when they ran out I tapped into my pension to keep my housing. Soon, faced with dwindling resources and a tight job market, I had no other option but to move.
It was an inevitable situation. No income usually makes for grumpy landlords, and mine was no different. My choices now were as slim as my wallet.
Going to a shelter came with many problems. For one, shelter space was as rare as Mayor Brown with a warm heart. People are routinely turned away, or compete with one another in a Dickensian lottery where the WINNER gets to sleep in a chair or on the floor. By the time one lottery is over for one shelter, the others are closed, or too far away. And there¹s no guarantee of space, either, once you do get to the next one.
To make matters worse, most shelters kick people out at 6 am and then ban them from returning until they reopen for the following night.
But the biggest problem is that shelters are a dead end if you really want to leave the streets. Too few people ever enter a shelter and later leave with a key to their own room or apartment. As rare as the shelter spaces are, affordable housing here is even more rare, with even longer waiting lists and even more people competing in housing lotteries for housing vouchers.
I couldn¹t carry all my possessions on my back or in a cart all day long, not with me using a cane and my two cats to care for as well. So I gimped over and through San Francisco¹s many bridges until I found one with a nook and cranny away from public view -- a place where I could set up a permanent camp where I could keep my clothes and foodŠ and my cats.
Once I settled in, I had to earn money, which I have done since I held my first job picking blueberries when I was five years old. Although I had papered businesses and non-profits with job applications, I still needed to eat, to buy my medications, to keep my clothes clean, and to feed my cats.
By that time two other homeless people had moved in nearby, and they had money they had earned everyday -- enough for them to eat well and take care of their daily needs. They were panhandlers, and they laughed wen I told them I could never do that. I am a child of the fifties, when being a beggar was as loathsome as being a politician or lawyer is today.
But they became my mentors.
They explained that they panhandled differently than most people, and they did it by using two cardinal rules: They never asked for change and they were always polite to the people who passed by -- even if they swore at you, or called you names, or vented all the fears and frustrations and anger from their own lives at the one group of people who could do nothing in return.
The first day I panhandled was, and continues to be, a hardship. Panhandling is one of the most difficult jobs I have ever had.
I have a morning shift across from Pac Bell on Third Street between Folsom and Harrison Streets. I wake up at 5:30 am, feed my cats, gather my gear, and get cleaned up at a nearby drop-in center or the bus station. By 7:30 am, I am at my spot.
In order to panhandle, I have to psychologically convince myself that I am not begging. I know that I am not the village drunk or the village idiot, but when I am working I do become the village greeter. I never ask the people who pass by for anything, but simply say, "Good morning, Sir (or Ma¹am)," and smile. I never sit down, so I can look them directly in the eye with as much pride and confidence as I can pull up from deep inside.
By 10 am the sidewalks are nearly empty, so I take a break and read thevnewspaper over a cup of coffee. If I need to, I go to St. Anthony¹s for a meal, then head for my afternoon shift.
I go to a fire hydrant between the Museum of Modern Art and one of the luxury hotels. Here I work, sometimes for several hours, never sitting down, greeting people, and trying to make the best lemonade I can from the worst tasting lemons I have.
By the end of the day, after four or five hours of standing stationary on cold concrete, I can usually make anywhere from $25-35, roughly minimum wage. But because I am always at those spots at the same time, I can earn this amount almost every day. There are worse days, and there are better days, but both are seldom. I now know several panhandlers; most are happy to get $15-20 per day and they usually work longer than I do, so I consider myself fortunate.
I have panhandled during the wettest February and December in San Francisco¹s history, as well as during the hottest July. I have shivered from the cold so violently that my hands turned blue, my cup would shake and I couldn¹t count my money. I have sweated in the sun so much my clothes were as damp as if I¹d been rained upon. My hip has hurt so much from standing that I could barely walk back to my camp, and sometimes I had to crawl to make it up under the bridge.
So when I read our daily newspapers and see the latest media Jihad against homeless infidels who panhandle and don¹t use shelters, I can only shake my head in disbelief at their arrogant ignorance. Because I am a beggarman troll, I do not steal, or rob, or become violent. I earn my money, and it comes at great personal cost. And I earn my privacy away from the public eye as I quietly, desperately apply for jobs.
But I am still standing on my own two feetŠ and my cane.EDITOR'S NOTE: Josh Brandon was an editor for the now-defunct Tenderloin Times, and originated the "homeless deaths story" for that publication, later publishing exclusive articles on that topic under his byline for the Chronicle and Examiner. He was also my writing coach back when I was still busy determining whether I wanted to write about homeless deaths, or become one myself. -- chance martin)
chance martin, editor
STREET SHEET
A Publication of the Coalition on Homelessness, San Francisco
468 Turk Street, San Francisco, CA 94102**********************************
Message: 4
Date: Wed, 06 Feb 2002 20:47:33 -0800
From: Nowland Jason <nowlandg@NOSPAMearthlink.net>
To: hpn@aspin.asu.NOSPAMedu
Reply-to: nowlandg@NOSPAMearthlink.net
Subject: [Hpn] No subject was specified.Hello everyone,
My name is Maggie I am from Ohio.
My husband and I work in the city with homeless men, women and children.
Last year I quit my job to work full time in the inner city.
Our heart has been captured by these precious people.
I have have just recently had the courage to write this letter to all of you out of some type of desperation and discouragement my husband and I feel. We feel sometimes that we chase our tail in the things we do. We dont want to just give food, clothing and temporary shelter. We want to do more - say more to end homelessness.
Our biggest battle is the system, as if you all didn't know that and the discouragement when someone has been clean from drugs and returns to the cycle.
Any ideas??
Not really sure why I wrote. But wanted to say thank you for all that you do.
I am just another person crying in the night.Mag
Message: 5
Date: Thu, 07 Feb 2002 04:44:45 -0800
From: Harmony Kieding <worldhome@NOSPAMthesociety.net>
Subject: Re: [Hpn] No subject was specified.
To: hpn@aspin.asu.NOSPAMedu
Cc: nowlandg@NOSPAMearthlink.net
Reply-to: worldhome@NOSPAMthesociety.netHi Maggie!
I, for one, am glad you wrote us. I hear you; there really are times when one
feels desperate and discouraged, especially when battling the system (not to
mention society's blindness and "not in my backyard" symptoms about homeless
people). And then feelings of being "burnt-out" start creeping in. So it's great to just come out and state how things are. That way at least some physical and
mental stress can be alleviated and our much-needed work can continue.
I have been homeless twice so far. Before that, there were twenty five years
of living at poverty level or below. Years of being hungry and/or having inadequate
nutrition... years of no money for the doctor or dentist...years of needing
two essential things and having only enough money to choose one of them. Years
of having three dresses, all of them worn almost transparently thin.
Before that was a childhood with two brothers and an angry father who would
come home from work and beat us up. He thought nothing of pushing us downstairs,kicking us wherever he could kick us... pull our hair out and punch us. Then when our mother would try to protect us, he would beat her up too. In the end, the four of us would be sobbing and he would storm out the door. Hours later
he would come back promising never to do it again... but it always happened
again.
I coped in the best way I knew how to at the time, which meant turning to alcohol and drugs to blot out the pain. Life made no sense to me- society and school
made no sense to me. Strange as it may seem to some, it was a vision I had on
Mescaline that turned my life around and showed me the relatedness of every
single thing in the Universe. That vision dissolved most of the suicidal feelings
I had been carrying around inside. It helped me to continue.
Back to homelessness.
How did my husband and I get out of it? With the help of the Internet, for one- (free email, and library internet-access) and friends and family. A friend of mine whom I had helped out in her time of need returned the favor and gave me and my husband a VW van to live in. Just having the van for shelter helped us up a notch.
Now we could drive on homeless errands (day centers, library and night shelter) and transport other homeless people too.
Many other events transpired; now my husband and I are housed again- barely.
Many times we have been four month's behind in rent and on the verge of eviction.
We've been living mostly on rice and flour for the past few weeks. My husband
works as a computer programmer in a small, two-person company that is starting
up. For weeks on end, he's gotten (the equivalent of) forty dollars a week to
live on.
I've taught myself how to do HTML and started building websites. So far I've
made five websites (for free) for homeless/formerly homeless people, and help
other friends once in a while with some work needed on their sites. (One website does bring in a little income every few months.) I made a homeless start page, trying to put in whatever information and resources I myself would need should I become homeless again. (It does loom constantly in the background). I would like to have a commercial website and bring in money from doing charts for people, and also have some paying clients from website building.
But there are few homeless "Stars". As with all other arenas in life, in here
on the homeless networking list we don't all necessarily agree with each other's solutions for homelessness or view each other's experiences in the same way.
Sometimes it's been a jungle in here, too. There's been name-calling and invalidation, along with frustration and friction.
But there's also been incredible love and support and caring- people knocking
themselves out to find information or help line someone up with something they
needed. People who serve and people who volunteer. People who care that for so many of us out there it is illegal to sleep, to sit on benches, to cover ourselves with blankets...and people who care that six homeless people in one town can freeze to death on a single night.
Words from Mother Teresa:
"Be kind....there will be people who take advantage of you and try to hurt you,
but be kind anyway.
Be fair...there will be people who will cheat and rob you, but be fair anyway.
Be loving...there will be people who will hate and despise you, but be loving
anyway.
And remember, it was never about you and them. It is always about you and your relationship to God."
Those words inspire me to go on, and also these from the Big Book of AA (in
16 days, I will be 15 yrs. clean and sober):
The Promises
"If we are painstaking about this phase of our development, we will be amazed
before we are half way through. We are going to know a new freedom and a new
happiness. We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. We will comprehend the word serenity and we will know peace. No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others. That
feeling of uselessness and self-pity will disappear. We will lose interest in
selfish things and gain interest in our fellows. Self-seeking will slip away.
Our whole attitude and outlook upon life will change.
Fear of people and of economic insecurity will leave us. We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us. We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves. Are these extravagant promises? We think not. They are being fulfilled among us, sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. They will always materialize if we work for them."
Thank you, Maggie, for being there and for being who you are.
Harmonyhttp://www.geocities.com/Athens/Agora/causesindex.html
http://www.dreamwater.org/biz/kenchurchill/index.html
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