From: "Harmony Kieding" <[email protected]>
To: "deborah hulse" <[email protected]>
Cc: [email protected]
Date: Tue, 23 Apr 2002 03:31:08 -0700
Subject: Re: [Hpn] (no subject)Hi Deborah,
I'll share something of what it was like for me. (By the way, before I forget-
I also went to Cal State Northridge. I took and completed a course in becoming
a Home Health Aide there.)
I have twice been homeless, both times in the state of California.
There are many different causes for people's becoming homeless. Some have problems with alcohol or drugs- others have mental health problems. Some people are natural born nomads.
In my case, (the second time) it was due to a combination of a low-paying job
with no benefits, a high rent, and an accident/injury on my job. (That's the
cause of the second time I was homeless).
The first time I was homeless, I was working both a part-time job and quite
a few jobs on the side of that (stuff like data entry and calligraphy). So I
did have some income, which helped a lot. I kept myself clean by going early
to the building where I worked as Administrator of Shipping. There was a private bathroom where I could wash up, and I also was able to wash out my clothes there.
I'd clean up after myself so no one would suspect and give me a hard time about
it.
Also, because I was working even tho homeless, I was able to go to a Mailboxes,
etc and rent a post box so I had a place to receive mail. That helped A LOT,
in so many ways.
Also, a good friend loaned me his station wagon to sleep in at night. It was
parked in an alley behind his store. He'd been there for years...everyone knew
everyone, and no one hassled me. The folks who worked at the Mexican restaurant
next door to my friend's store would greet me every morning with "Good Morning,
senorita!"
But at night, I'd crawl inside the station wagon, lock the doors, and light
some candles for warmth (it was December and very cold, even if it was Pasadena).
Some Army captain I'd hitched a ride with long ago taught me that survival trick,
and it's served me well, both in Vermont blizzards and California winters. In
the morning, as soon as it got light, I would walk down to work and wash up
there before my job began.
How I was able to get out of being homeless the first time was through friends
and my AA group. At that time I had five year's of sobriety, (I have sixteen
now) so people at the AA club knew me pretty well, and that I was making an
effort to maintain my sobriety. I'd come to meetings at night after work and
share what was going on with me.
Consequently, one night after a meeting one of the guys came up to me and told
me that he and his family had a garage I could stay in. He was pretty apologetic about it, because the door to the garage was broken, but they had a big plastic
tarp over it to keep out the wind and the cold, and an electric heater. So it
was that by Christmas I had a roof over my head. That time around.
Deborah, one thing about "the homeless identity". I do hope folks realize that
there are a million different "identities" for homeless people.. one for each
homeless person. (Pretty much as there's one "identity" for each "homed" person, I suspect).
I hope you get lots of material for your report, so that it represents a wide
sampling of different kinds of experiences.
Sincerely,
Harmony Kiedingworldhome
http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Agora/7076/causesindex.html
American Homeless Land Model
http://www.dreamwater.org/biz/kenchurchill/index.html
What Causes Homelessness?
http://www.planetsave.com/u/Harmony*************************************************************
Wednesday’s Trip
by Tim Abernathy
My thoughts began to stir as the morning sun violates my rest. I feel the sticks
in my back and the dew on my face and hands as I groan my way into a new day. I roll over a little to try to climb out from under the bushes that were my home for thenight and find the blanket off to the side I had lost some where in a restless sleep. I never knew so many things could hurt on just one body but they do.
No, I guess it wasn’t just a bad dream, I really am here. It’s another day, which
one I’m not sure, Wednesday I think. Can things really be as crazy as my memories
from the recent past are telling me? Right now just a toothbrush would help.
Sticking my head out from under the bushes as I crawl towards the sidewalk, I look out into the face of a prim and proper young lady as she innocently walks by on her way to work. We both freeze like a deer in headlights, she in her stunned fear and me in humiliation. Trying to recover she smiles an awkward smile and looking to the ground she hurries to the steps and disappears into the building. I feel the blood rushing to my face as I think would anyone like that ever love me again? How stupid I feel as I scold myself for even thinking that, its time to admit some things are just over.
Pulling up on the bush I rise to meet the morning. The air is crisp and a shiver
flows through my bones as a truck goes by with its wind rushing around me. Rush hour was in full swing as the people scurried like ants to their respective destinations.
My mind started to drift as I remembered my years spent commuting when suddenly a rumble in my stomach reminded me it was time to find some breakfast.
The morning meal consisted of a buffet line at the dumpster behind a local grocery store. The early risers were already there and so I watched as the more aggressive grabbed the meat that wasn’t quite as brown and the donuts that weren’t as crushed.
Building a fire next to the train tracks I cooked breakfast hoping the rusty metal I was using for a grill wouldn’t effect the flavor.
Sitting down on a crate I devoured the meat not really sure what it was but still
hoping that it was cooked enough to kill anything you shouldn’t eat. The donuts are
a bit dry but a little water collected from the gas station faucet washes away any
concerns of choking.
Walking around through the day trying to blend in and not look homeless looking
away from curious eyes, some that pity and some that glare in anger. You try to be
invisible to the police as they pass by inspecting you from head to foot. For whatever reason the new mayor that has come in has made it illegal to be homeless in this city. I know that may seem like a strange, even silly statement but the bottom line is she doesn’t want the world to see poverty in her city and the answer seems to be to run it out or put it in jail. Strange concept, but anyone that thinks it through knows that is not the answer.
Sitting for a moment in a window I rested my feet that are still crying out from
yesterdays torment. It’s hard to find shoes that fit at the church. You just sort
of take what’s handed to you. I was hoping that the officer would walk on by so I
could be left to my solitude but the storeowner inside nodded his head and the officer told me to move on. My feet were so sore that the blisters had broken open. It was like a burn that causes you to shutter as you try to walk. Its funny how you wish that it wasn’t so obvious that you’re poor. Sometimes I feel like I’m wearing a sign.Trying to look normal I had to slide my feet to the wrong side as I walked to get them to not rub as bad.
About 11:00 or so I sat again on the wall near the local burger joint. Its funny
how your pride will tell you that you will never beg but your stomach makes you sit
near the place that people see you and feel for you. I watched for a young mom with kids, they usually toss the good stuff but not today, it’s just mainly business folks and their quick lunch meetings. I saw a few good salads get thrown away but it’s hard to salvage lettuce from the trash can, it seems to get more dirt than other things. As I sat there silently pleading for mercy from the masses a man leaves the line withhis order and gently puts a cheeseburger and fries next to me. He said that if I washungry or knew anyone that was then they could have it. I thanked him and assuredhim that it would not be wasted.
It’s funny the things you think of while you sit and wait for someone to walk up
and tell you he wants to give you a million dollars and lift you out of this rat maze
of a life style. Maybe I should go sit in front of the bank, he could be waiting for
me there. The problem is he never comes, so instead you just and wait for someone
that doesn’t finish their coke. You find a drink left on an outside table almost full,
it’s a diet and anyone knows that diet stuff isn’t really good for you, but you drink
it anyway to wash down the fries from your new friend that came and went.
As the day passes the sun is bright so you look for some shade in a quiet spot.
You want to be careful to not sit down in a spot that will cause alarm for the folks
passing by thinking you may be a mugger, though I don’t guess I look much like one
it’s easy to get locked up these days. The last time I spent 30 days for jay walking.
The fine wasn’t so bad but when you don’t have it you just do the time.
The day seemed like forever, but suddenly I realized I was running late to get
to the mission. You have to get there at a certain time to get your number for a shower and then wait in line. I started my trudge for the city shelter, it was the closest about 10 blocks away, and they dodn’t make any demands except for us not to cause trouble. I could do that. The line was already about 75 men long but I smelled fairly strong so I guessed I’d better wait. Though no one looked familiar most of the faces looked alike. Poverty has a look, and in this line it had a smell. The line went fairly fast, I listened as men talked about nothing. Some men tried to break in line and fights ensued but were quickly over as the mission directors came out and told those guilty to leave.
I’ve learned that sometimes its good to think about your past life. I’ve learned
that sometimes it’s suicide. As I waited my thoughts drifted to a day when I was walking with my dog along a creek in the country. It was such an adventure to find abandoned houses or old churches left to the weeds for young adventurers like us. What a day of peace and wonder, the joy… suddenly the guy behind me nudges me and gruffly says are you going or not? I go into the building and up the concrete stairs towards a shower room. The smell is pungent and repelling but knowing that I didn’t smell muchbetter I just held my breath and went on towards the showers. As I looked I saw thedoor standing open with naked men wandering around the room trying to take as much time as they can in the comfort of real plumbing. Black, white, Hispanic, oriental, old, young, skinny and fat they were all there. I wondered if my eyes could be as hollow or my face look that old and worn.
The shower attendant stirs me from my thoughts as he shoves a towel in my hand.
I think it’s hardly big enough to dry a plate with but I don’t complain. I hesitate
for a moment because of the lustful eyes gazing my way but go ahead and disrobe knowing it won’t be long before my number is called for me to get back out for the next guy.
The other men don’t bother me much today, a couple of guys rubbed up against me but I just tried to ignore them and hope it was an accident. Soon my time was up.
The next part of my busy schedule would be for me to get just the right spot out on the sidewalk so I won’t get run off but I could be close enough to jump back in the supper line and be towards the front. Hopefully tonight I could get it from the top where its not quite burned and be there before they run out. It doesn’t take long to figure out the system so you try to set yourself up to be in the right spot at the right time. I laughed at the thought that I could be called a missionary, wandering from one mission to another like I’ve done lately.
I’ve recently gotten to go into some of the different missions and to see the areas around them. You know that you won’t find the mission district just across from the golf course, the rents a little much, so generally they are going to be in the hard luck parts of town. If for a moment you can imagine with me an old brick warehouse. In their hay day’s they were crowded with business and people. But generally thesebuildings are no longer in good repair, there are a few exceptions but for the most part the concrete floors that once were home for forklifts and boxes are now the beds for homeless men or women. Inside 300 to 500 mats or mattresses lay out on the floors they will be given away for the night through the lottery system. When 600 men show up and there are only 500 mats this can present a problem so the lottery system is used.
It’s hard for those that have their own bathrooms and beds to understand the circumstances that people like us live with. When they look they see a "bum" or something like that. It’s hard to believe that folks like me once had a home and a family. I remember, sometimes if I think real hard having friends at the country club, working hard on computers and managing a crew of engineers. Now I would just be ashamed if my children or former co-workers knew what really happened.
I’ve heard so many people say things like get a job, or there are missions why
not just stay in one? Well, if you really think about it, it’s not hard to figure
out why. Just look around and think it through. It causes one to wonder what diseases live in a place like this when you see the infrared lights overhead designed to kill TB and other germs that are passed through the air. Those that have advanced HIV\AIDS or may possibly just be to drunk loose control of their bladders and bowels on the mattresses that we share. I wonder how much Lysol it would take to disinfect 500 mattresses for a week.
As you lay there you listen to men snoring and some crying feeling as though life
is gone and there are no means by which to recover. The gentle glow from the infrared lighting cast shadows on the floor and walls reviving the demons and monsters of your youth. Fear, anger and hopelessness permeate the room. Even though the 500 mats around you are full, loneliness creeps in as you consider that for some around you theremay be no loss to rob or even kill you in your sleep for a chance of getting your mat or the change you may carry in your pocket.
I feel the warm tears rolling down my own face as I try to forget how bad things really are. I listen as a man with TB behind me coughs; I hold my breath for a few minutes hoping the germs will dissipate. I think about our home that used to be swimming in the river, laughing together my family that was. Maybe if I close my eyes when I wake up this was all just a dream, a very, very bad dream.Tim Abernathy may be contacted at [email protected]
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Another one of mine!
Goddess knows why but here I am again up before my alarm clock. Hoku is telling me its’ all right and I’m singing along with her leastwise till the CD stops spinning. Yeah, just her and me another pair of dumb blondes. I woke from my Nyquil induced dreams with something I’d forgotten for so long - the Graffiti Lunch Counter. Me and a couple of the other old farts from back east - in the real universe - were reminiscing about being young in eastern cities. We all had the opinion that lunch counters lasted longer there in than in the rest of the country. What they have at Denny"s and others just isn't the same as the old Woolworth"s counters. I love the club sandwiches at Woolworth’s and Lamberts. Turkey breast slices - not the loaf you see now - bacon, lettuce, too thick slices of tomato and three pieces of toast cut into quarters with fancy toothpicks holding it all together. Oops, nearly forgot all that mayo and the potato chips! Anyway there we were sitting against the wall waiting for the Salvation Army to open and let us in, we poor sods who were now wishing we’d really misspent our youth at least the memories would be better while sitting homeless despite having done all that was supposed to prevent this!
But like I said there we were and I was looking up craning my head back more and more taking in this expanse of brick with sad to say poorly done spray can art. My grin threatened to separate the top of my head in two slices like the tomatoes or some absurd tongue sandwich! “ You know guys we could open our own lunch counter right here against this wall!” “What you talking ‘bout , Willis?” “ I ain’t Willis and you look more like Bruce Lee than Gary Coleman! But look - we can make our own one here and call it the Graffiti Lunch Counter and sell food we like to Riverside literati and other fakers for outrageous amounts of cash. The problem is to find waitresses like they used to have in Woolworth’s when we were kids.”
We went on like that for a bit laughing and setting up menus and until now I haven’t given it a thought. I have decided to let it be part of the Moveable Feast website. Great still fighting with HTML on the first one and here I am with several versions of it sketched out! Uh-huh, uh-huh!
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