Sharing and Caring Hands in Minneapolis, Minnesota and Richard a.k.a "Walkie-Talkie"

     This is the outside of the facility (thanks to ballparkmagic.com for this image).

On Thursday, May 5th, I contacted Sharing and Caring Hands in Minneapolis and asked if I could meet with some homeless folks over the weekend or on Monday, May 9th. I've learned to get in touch with shelters beforehand and ask them if they can set up meetings with the homeless in advance. If I don't do this, I run the risk of walking into a busy shelter with no one available to help me, or they postpone the chance of meetings, which isn't good because I'm officially on a "schedule." Over the phone, Sharing and Caring Hands instructed me to show up on Monday at 10 am and speak with Mary Jo, who is the leader of the shelter.

Visiting the shelter was an exercise in frustration. I arrived Monday, got in contact with a Mary Jo who wasn't the leader of the shelter. She was a different Mary Jo, a supervisor. When I explained my position to her, she exclaimed, "Well, just talk to anyone! Any of these people would be willing!" Simply by looking at the glum, depressed faces sitting around cafeteria tables, I knew that wasn't true. I explained how I usually was set up with the homeless through the administration. Hearing this, she led me over to a man named Richard. Talking with him went reasonably well, and his profile is posted below. After I finished talking with Richard, Mary Jo was nowhere to be found. I tried engaging other people – something I swore I would never do by myself – and, as expected, no one wanted to talk with me. Eventually, Mary Jo led me to a couple other people, but both of those conversations fizzled out. As I was trying to speak with an elderly black gentleman, the security guard told me to stand up against the wall and wait in line for food. I explained I wasn't hungry or a part of the shelter, but he said it didn't matter. I prayed about whether I should stay or go, and I decided to leave, confused and annoyed.

Sharing and Caring Hands has a great reputation around St. Paul and Minneapolis for helping the homeless, so I know they're not an incompetent organization. I also understand that they have zero obligation to me, but I was amazed that, outside of Mary Jo and a kind kitchen worker, no one seemed willing to help me – worker or homeless individual. It was my first taste of almost outright rejection. I wasn't personally offended, but I was frustrated that I couldn't engage more people.


                                              RICHARD AKA "WALKIE-TALKIE"

Richard* a.k.a. "Walkie-Talkie" as he liked to call himself, was a gregarious jokester, and out of all the people I've interviewed, he was one of the hardest to follow. As he told me about himself, he would abruptly change the subject or start cracking jokes. Because of this, I've tried to incorporate some of his restlessness and energy into his profile.

Richard became homeless soon after becoming addicted to drugs and alcohol. "I started smoking crack May 5th, 1987. Most people are homeless [that suffer from] alcoholism or drug addiction or mental problems. I have all three of them.... I've been homeless off and on since 1990 [and] I've been into treatment [for my addictions] ten times." But before his life spiraled downward, his future seemed set. "I have a home [that I] bought in Memphis in April 5th, 1973 when I was twenty-three years old. I completely paid for it in 1979. I went to Memphis Art Academy in 1975, took extensive courses for nine months. I went to the Minneapolis College of Art and Design in 1977. I wanted to be a fashion designer.... I worked for an Italian tailor in high school when I was seventeen, eighteen. I always appreciated the finer things in life."

Richard does have a plan to get back on his feet and out of the streets. "Minneapolis is my home also. All my children are here and my grandchildren. Since I've been back in Minneapolis, I've been homeless [this current time] for a year and a half. I've been looking for an apartment since I got sober eight months ago. Also, I plan on going back to school in September to hone my [artistic] skills. It's easier for me to get a job then to pick up a pencil and a paintbrush. I can draw people on the streets, which I thought about [doing] years ago because [the streets] is where I spend a lot of my time." At this point, Richard reached out his hand and asked me, in regards to our interview, "How much money do I get?" I waited for him to laugh before I started laughing.

Richard's sobriety is his top priority. "I will be sober," Richard said. "The last time I was sober was in 2003. I stayed sober for thirteen months, but I lost my sobriety in the summer of 2004. I'm not giving up... I could [give up] by being rejected for housing. I could get angry and start drinking, but I'm going to stay focused.... I won't drink myself to death or smoke myself to death; cigarettes maybe, not crack. I'm staying focused to get myself a place... I'm too young to kill myself at sixty-one years old." He paused and smiled. "Tell me I don't look good!" His face was surprisingly smooth for his age, so I said, yes, he did indeed look good for his age. After I admitted this, he took out his four front teeth and said, "Excuse me, these were bothering me!" before laughing again.

I could follow Richard's thought process for the majority of our conversation, but when he tried to tell me about a time he was incarcerated, I couldn't hold on to his train of thought. What follows is his story, basically verbatim:

 "The things that are hunting my life, I'm not guilty of. I got caught up in a bad situation in '95. I didn't know this man, I didn't know him in New York City. I lived in New York for twelve years; Manhattan Island, Greenwich Village... I lived there from the time I was twenty until I was thirty-two years old. I didn't know him in Memphis, my hometown. I met him here in Minneapolis through my brother. I hear no evil, I speak no evil, I see no evil, so how can I say something about someone raping someone? And here I am sitting on the love seat in a studio apartment... the woman was a crackhead. I've been up all night. I wasn't doing too bad, my brother wasn't doing too bad. It occured in my brother's apartment, and I stayed in jail eight months for that. I said to that woman, 'Can you wait?' I ain't seen nobody have sexual intercourse, I haven't heard no hollerin' or nothing. I did open the door because I been drinkin' and I had to pee. He was in the bathroom, women's legs up like that." He lifted both of his arms up. "So the woman said that she consented to have sex with him, but the guy, this man got thirty years and when he gets out... Lord knows if I would have known that man was a rapist, I wouldn't walk a block with him. I stayed in jail eight months. I told that woman, 'Wait until my brother comes back. He'll be right back. He just went downstairs to my apartment.' By doing that, I incriminated myself. They wanted to make us go against him. The prosecutor say, 'I'm not trying to do anything against you, Richard. I just want to find out what really happened.' But I don't know anything! All I can say is what I did. The woman kept asking this man, saying, 'Come on, go with me.' I said, 'Hey, why don't you go with that woman? That woman like you!' He refused to go because he promised that woman he was going to buy her fifty dollars worth of crack."

Richard had a unique way of expressing how he viewed himself. "I used to be an FBI agent: f***ing belligerent ignorant. But now I'm a CIA agent, a caring, intelligent agent. God didn't put me on earth to be a pimp. I did all of that, but I had to get out of the ghetto. I got a lot of money out of it, but I don't want to die in sin. I don't want to die homeless or on the streets. God gave every person an innate ability to take care of themselves, and not to harm anyone. He didn't put us on earth to sin. He didn't make me as a baby to be a sinner. He made me perfect.... That is the truth."


Towards the end of our conversation, Richard said, "Some people say that I'm very intelligent. And then some say that I'm retarded. What do you say? Do you think that I deserve to be homeless?" I answered no, I didn't think any person deserved to be homeless. "Do you think I have to be subjected to all these things that make me go get drunk and use crack? I'm not gonna do it no more!" He continued, "They've been trying to give me medication. Do you think I need medication? Do I act like I'm retarded or crazy to you?" I told him I didn't think he was retarded, but I couldn't say if he needed medication because I wasn't a doctor. He laughed, "Hey man, I'm just a happy-go-lucky artist! I'm fine! Anybody tell me that I'm retarded, I just laugh and walk away."


Before he walked away, Richard said, "Don't use my name. Just call me Walkie-Talkie. Actually, I don't care how you do it, just as long as you give me some money when I'm done." He reached across the table and took my audio recorder. "I'm gonna take this otherwise." He burst out laughing before setting it back.

*Recently, I've been forgetting to take pictures. I'm not sure if this is due to mere forgetfulness or something else, but I consider the pictures an integral part of each profile I post, and as such, I apologize for the lack of them in the past couple posts.

If you couldn't tell already, I'm not very good at describing the faces of others, but I will try my best! Richard was a short black man of medium build. As he said, he was sixty-one, but I couldn't tell; he looked as if he could be in his forties. He had a kind, unremarkable face, except that he was always smiling – with teeth or without.