Neil Tiberius Hayes from the Poverello Center

When I first began speaking with Neil in the Poverello Center, I was convinced he was a volunteer or worked there in some capacity. His clothes were clean, his hair was neatly combed, and he spoke calmly and eloquently. In a way, he reminded me of Terris, my friend from Portland. The more I spoke with him, the more I realized that he was indeed homeless. And yes, his middle name really is Tiberius. His parents were Trekkies.


Like the majority of the people I've spoken with, Neil's upbringing was typical. "I grew up in a lower middle-class family. My dad was in the Navy, and my mom worked several clerical positions. I grew up in Jacksonville, Florida, for the most part, and we moved to Rhode Island for a short time. Then back to Florida on the base. My dad retired after his twenty [years of military service] and we moved up here to Montana. I think I did a year of middle school, a year of high school, then I got my GED. I worked random jobs until I turned eighteen. I became a correctional officer here in the state of Montana, left that to work an oil field which collapsed like a bad flame when they lost our contract. I've just been working odd jobs since then; I went to Oklahoma, did some ranching. Now I'm doing dishwashing up here [in Missoula]."


I asked him how long it's been since he's been sleeping on the streets. "Essentially nine months on and off," he answers. "I've had a few places to crash for a couple weeks here, a couple weeks there." He says he's mostly been homeless in Missoula, but he also visited Spokane, Washington for a short time. "I was ill-equipped [in Spokane] and their shelters... the Union Gospel Missions make you go to chapel for an hour every night, everyone showers at the same time, you wear their pajamas to bed. The food's alright, but it's not worth all the bulls**t hoops you have to jump through. Here [at the Poverello Center], this is pretty laidback. You put your pack in storage so you don't get bedbugs, and just to keep stuff clean. They respect everyone, but it's not structured and it's not like beating you over the head with religion."


Neil elaborates on how he first became homeless, and how he's survived inside and outside of shelter. "I was working in Oklahoma for a rancher, and we got into a fairly retarded argument that pretty much ended me. I told him, 'I'm not going to buy an alternator for your truck. It's your company.' There's three bosses running [the ranch], so I talked with the other two bosses who were cool. I could have gotten unemployment, but I've already [had it in the past], and I don't really need it. I would have just wasted it on nothing and it would have stopped me from actually looking for a job. I came here to Montana because I had friends and family here, so I stayed with a few of them for awhile, but I didn't want to overstay my welcome. I'd like to have [those] resources in the future.... I don't want to burn those bridges. I've stayed [at the Poverello Center] for thirty days, talked to a bunch of people, and have slowly acquired the necessary gear to essentially build a camp outside."


I tell Neil that, simply in speaking with him for a short period, he sounds very resourceful. He has a dishwashing job which pays minimum wage ($7.25), and instead of trying to look for an apartment, which he says would take "half or more of his monthly income," he sleeps outside in a tent when the weather is nice and inside in a shelter when it's too cold out. "Why would I ever buy food again knowing how much free food is in this town? There's five food banks in this town that I know of, and meals [at the Poverello Center] daily? The meals here will eat you up on the inside after awhile, but unless I'm in the mood for something specific, I don't see the point of eating elsewhere. I get essentially six dollars a day in food stamps, and I generally use that to buy other people random stuff. I just make goodwill with other people with that extra money and then I'll just eat [in the Poverello Center] or wherever."


I ask Neil what he's learned in dealing with the uniqueness of the homeless community. "It's a community with a definite stratification and status. There's the RV people, the camping people, and then the total drunken bums just passing out on the street each day. The people that are in and out [of the shelters], the veterans that are here – there's a stratification and there's some movement in there, but generally, people move along in set paths."


Neil is the second homeless person I've met who prefers to sleep in a tent rather in a shelter. I ask him what some of the differences are between the two, outside of fresh air and blue skies. "You can go wherever you want, whenever you want. I'm nose-deaf, I can't smell anything, but people say [the shelter] just smells like ass and feet and farts. It's horrible and stuffy and hot and muggy in the winter. People are just breathing the same air. I got bronchitis in November and it stuck with me until [April]. They put me on three or four rounds of antibiotics and cough syrup the whole time. I couldn't keep any food down. Everyone just calls it the 'Pov Cough' that's 'going around.' It's not 'going around!' It's been here for years! Two years ago, I was running fifty miles a week. I can tell there's a marked decrease in the endurance ability of my cardiovascular system just from having stayed here the time that I did. Once you leave here for the night, that's it. You're stuck out in the cold. Here [at the shelter], though, you're guaranteed a nice, warm place and a fairly soft bed that is ill-fitting for a gentleman of my size [Neil is a large man, approx. 6'5" and between 250-300 pounds]. Whereas a tent, if you're not provisioned with the proper gear, you'll f***ing freeze your ass off all night. If you're careful [in the shelter], you're probably not going to have your gear stolen, whereas tents are pretty much fair game. If someone comes up to your tent and you're not there..." Neil stopped and shook his head. "For example, this guy named Dave, really nice guy. He's camped in the same spot for three years. Some people just walked down there looking to steal something. They didn't find whatever they wanted, so they just knifed his air mattress and put holes in his tent."


Part of the difficulty in living in a tent is being inconspicuous, as it's illegal to have tent cities in most towns or cities in America. Because Missoula has nice weather in the summer, many traveling homeless migrate there for a short time. "There's people that are outside year round [who keep to themselves] and cops leave them alone, but now there's all the spring chickens going out there and their camps are just f***ing horrendous. There's a group of about six people, ten dogs, and there's s**t and piss and dog food and human food and trash and tarps and old tents. They turned that camp site – this whole hillside – f***ing trashy in a matter of weeks. That draws attention to people like me. The other day, [this guy] was sitting on a trail with a ring of beer cans [around him], and yelling at people running a marathon on the trail. Part of camping out here illegally is blending in. I walk down [to the trail], I look like any other college student going for a hike. They're all dirty and grungy and their dogs are fighting with the runner's dogs. Eventually, the county gets involved, and they sweep through and bust everyone's camp out and destroy everyone's gear."


Neil explained that there are a few directions in life he could pursue. "The way I look at it is... there's a few investments I could make, and I make so little money that I need to invest it wisely. I can either directly invest it in my experiential view of reality, in that, I could go travel around, meet people, have fun and spend it directly, or buy a van to live in, build my credit up, build a resource like having a vehicle, and then later on, get an apartment; slowly build up to 'what people want to do' which is, live in a house, drive a car, and go to work. To me, the great line in 'Fight Club' is, 'working jobs you hate to buy s**t you don't need.' If I can physically get by and live, it's not always going to be an enjoyable life. I'm not always going to have the luxury of a nice, warm bathroom accomodations or a nice shower everyday. If I can live and have fun and meet all these f***ing insane people, then why not?.... Someone actually gave me a really nice huge bike that fits me. I can replace the tires, put the racks on, put the saddlebacks on, and essentially condense my camp and all necessary supplies to just fit on that. Then I'm free to go anywhere. If I work at a kitchen, a dishwasher, a prep cook, work your way up to sous chef or chef or line cook, and you get solid references... you go anywhere in the nation, people are always going to have to eat. I can fill that position quite easily with a solid reference."


I mention that there are some homeless people who don't know how or don't want to break free from their homelessness. In response, Neil said, "Maybe I'm just weird in thinking that... that's not how I want to live. There's people who get stuck in the [homeless] mindset. There's a man [people call] Cock-Eyed Joe [here in Missoula]. He's just drunk everyday. He wakes up barely long enough to beg for money on the street, get another bottle, then passes out. He's been doing that for... twenty years or so? Some of his buddies have been doing it just as long. They're missing toes from getting frostbite in the winter because they passed out when it was forty below; they're stuck in wheelchairs and have, like, five brain cells left and can barely put together a sentence. I don't do drugs, I don't drink, I don't find that fascinating. I'm never going to be there."


In regards to some of the other homeless he's met and hung out with, Neil says, "A lot of these people are just straight up f***ing fruitcakes. They're crazy! There was a guy here that went across the street and just started beating a guy, yelling something about him being a Mormon doctor. He was neither Mormon nor a doctor! The guy's schizophrenic, but he was out of jail in two days because of his own recognizance. He's just persona non grata to them. It just costs too much to help him or they don't have the resources to help him, so they say, 'Just go on the streets and hopefully you disappear to another town.'" Because of their dirtiness, their lack of mental stability, Neil says he can see the argument of the Missoulan downtown community against the homeless. "People predjudiced against homeless people have a point. We're lowering their property values. By having the Poverello here and all the supporting organizations, we have essentially four useless [downtown] blocks. Starting here, going over the walking bridge, we have the Partnership-Free Health Clinic and the Missoula 3:16 and all those organizations there just for the homeless. They could be economic powerhouses of greater downtown Missoula." He paused, then added, "We're not good for them, but as the Bible said, the poor will always be with us."

The Poverello Center in Missoula, Montana

The outside of the Poverello Center (thanks to missoulian.com)

The Poverello Center is located in downtown Missoula and it was one of the most welcoming shelters I visited. All of the staff there were incredibly helpful, friendly, and supportive of my endeavors. At one point, I sat down with Travis, the Director of Staff at the Poverello Center. He talked with me about the state of homelessness in Missoula, Montana, and how the Poverello Center has had trouble working with local businesses and government. Below are some excerpts from our conversation.


"In the last three years, [the Poverello Center]'s numbers have gone up in accordance with the economic downturn. With [the increase in the homeless population], we've had a new sense of controversy in the community. Downtown businesses feel like the reason why they're suffering [financially] is because of panhandling, transients, and all the negative associations with this small segment of the population that we serve. We're in a difficult position of trying to do educational outreach in the community. As we make our case for needing a new facility, this facility isn't ADA-compliant. The dorms have terrible ventilation. This is an old building [it was built in 1903 – Ed.], and because the building is so compact, it's not exactly the most dignified way to be living in a short-term shelter."


"There are some folks, whom we would call 'shelter-resistant,' and it has been difficult to do more outreach to them. We opened a drop-in center – a daytime facility – in 2008. It was in the basement of a church about a block and a half away. That was controversial because that was one of our attempts to offer a space that folks could come and just hang out and be out of the weather. I think the community wanted us to be solving these bigger systemic problems. With the drop-in center, we weren't able to show quantifiable improvements, to a certain degree. At the same time, we also have a local newspaper that likes to sensationalize the issues. All of the same stuff we do for a wide variety of people that have mental health issues, loss of job, health-care related homelessness – it's hard to make our case when the community is only focused on [the shelter-resistant]."


"Within the last couple of years, we've had new ordinances passed: the 'aggressive panhandling' ordinance and the 'pedestrian interference' ordinance, in attempts to create some legal tools for the police to penalize homelessness. Other cities have done this and haven't been effective. As we're seeing, it hasn't been effective [in Missoula]. A lot of this [anti-homelessness] actually stems back to the year 2000 when there was a 'Rainbow Gathering' in Wisdom, Montana. The Rainbow Kids are associated with going to places, especially downtown, and creating a negative environment for pro-business. It was in 2000 when the community decided to put this program together called 'Real Change, Not Spare Change,' in an attempt to educate the community about not giving money directly to people; that giving money directly to social services like us would be a more effective way of [helping homelessness]. That's been a little bit of a boost with our funding, but [Real Change...] is not really effective."


"One of the most effective things that we've looked at is providing some kind of housing, a 'Housing First' model. It lessens the economic impact. Some of the folks out on the street rack up sixty or seventy thousand dollars of emergency room visits in the period of a year. St. Patricks [a local hospital in Missoula] recently came out and said that they wrote off about three million dollars in 2009 as a charitable donation. That's about 519 people, they say – unduplicated numbers of people they serve from whom they don't expect any money back. One of the things we're trying to do with that information is leverage it; to say that if we find a way to mitigate the [financial] impact of community resources, that would be an economically smart thing to do."


"We're hoping with our new facility that we will have some sort of 'wet shelter' space for people that are currently not able to stay here because of our zero-tolerance policy [the Poverello Center's policy states that they do not currently allow anyone who is intoxicated to be on their premises – Ed.]. In the last couple of years, we've been experiencing a transition in our philosophy. Three or four years ago, staff members, if they expected someone being intoxicated while eating, they would get breathalyzed in public and be asked to leave. We're looking more at 'harm reduction' models where you establish relationships with people, and as long as [a person's] behavior is fine, then we're not going to penalize someone for being intoxicated; for being an alcoholic in the grips of a disease that's really debilitating. In the last two years, we've implemented a 'weather' policy. In the wintertime when it reaches twenty degrees or below, we relax our zero-tolerance policy and allow folks to come in and sleep on our dining room floor on mats. That's been a huge change in how we approach a problem. Up until [a couple years ago], we were just really reactionary and punitive for people being under the influence. We still have to maintain a strict zero-tolerance policy because there are so many people trying to beat their addiction, but at the same time, I think we've done a really good job on balancing compassion with safety."


"Now with our new facility, one of the things we've been looking into is increasing our street presence and outreach. This is something that we're currently developing. We're hoping too kick this off this summer if we get all of our funding. Part of the idea is taking some of the pressure off of first-responders like police in the downtown core; also giving a phone number that businesses can call so we can initially respond and use these relationships now that we've established with a lot of the folks on the streets. Let's say that [a homeless person] is impeding a walkway because they're intoxicated and unable to move, we then can respond and try and move a person along, in a way that's going to be a little less confrontational than a police officer. A lot of the police officers in this town are really great. They have a pretty tough job to do. Once they are called in, they have to give a ticket unless they're able to get someone to change their behavior. I think we're going to be increasing our relationship with the police officers [as well] as they see us trying to help with the problem. When we do get calls and we respond, this is also our chance to help educate business owners and tourists about the services we offer. There's an idea that we enable a bunch of lazy, worthless individuals here. People [that think that] don't have direct experiences so we're hoping that those attitudes and mindsets can be changed once they know that folks that stay here are required to do a chore; that there's a thirty-day policy [where someone can only stay here for thirty days] and to get extended past that, you get extensions based on 'merits' which are evidence that people are moving towards a [personal] goal. I think when [others] understand that there is a level of accountability, some of the preconceptions and stereotypes will be changed.... It's really exciting that we'll get to have more of a presence downtown because a lot of business owners feel frustrated and they don't see [the Poverello Center] in the community. They don't see what kind of work we do in this facility, and so, they [haven't] had the opportunity to learn that. As we get out there and talk to people about what we do, I'm hoping to see a change in attitudes.... If only everyone knew about folks who support local businesses who are are staying here [at the Poverello Center]. Folks do have SNAP (?) and will have some disability and social security payments. There is money that people use to support local businesses downtown, and I don't think that kind of economic support is ever really understood."


"There's these larger national systemic problems that we're looking at... [Missoula] is a college town where rent is really, really high. You're only really supposed to spend about thirty percent of the money you bring in on housing. Hardly anyone I know only spends thirty percent on housing. A lot of people are moving around trying to find work. We're seeing a lot of guys, especially those who are used to making a living [with day labor jobs]. Montana was hit really hard when the housing bubble burst. We were a little behind other states in feeling the economic impact, but up in the Flathead, down south in the Bitter Root – a lot of the good work that was out there was housing. When that collapsed, a lot of work dried up; not to mention the amount of mills we've had close in the past three to four years. There's been pretty significant economic factors that's really led to a huge increase [in people]. In 2009, we saw our biggest numbers: we had over thirty nights where we had over a hundred people in the building. We're not supposed to go over a hundred because of fire code.... The fire chief said that, as long as we had people resting in a sitting position, that wouldn't be considered sleeping. They're saying this because the city doesn't want to be responsible for helping us get a new facility. It's easier to just let us continue doing things and scraping by versus stating that we're beyond our capacity to help and we need other people to step up now. Literally, at one point, we were questioned whether there was a hundred-person capacity or not and we had to prove it to the fire chief. He didn't want to acknowledge that that number was given to us. He wanted to ignore that. You start to see small-town politics come out when these types of situations are discussed in public forums. A lot of posturing goes on, and it's an interesting environment to be in."


"There's a lot of things we know we can do better... Right now, one of our issues is we have one case manager to see up to sixty or seventy people, which is just insane. One's caseload should be about thirty to thirty-five people. We're starting to transition to more of a 'support' staff role, and hopefully, we'll be able to take some of that burden from our case manager. We want to get at people earlier. One of the things we recognize is that thirty days isn't enough to do anything. Even if you get a job on the first day, to build up money to get into a place is ridiculous. Thirty days isn't enough to do anything. Even then, some people are here for seven-to-ten days before they even get to see a case manager, who tells them about Missoula Housing Authority which helps to subsidize housing. A whole week goes by without them knowing some of the steps they should be taking. That makes the thirty days even less effective."

(thanks to missoulanews.com)

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.

Kan from Bloomington, Indiana/Boston, Massachusetts

Kan was unlike any person I've talked with up to this point. He's not technically homeless, but he's making his way around the United States as a "traveler." "I traveled around from '94 until '03 in the Marine Corps. I'm just so used to it. My [doctor] back in Boston says it's part of my PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder). I can't sit still. I mean, I got a house back in Boston. I just don't want to be there... I just don't like being inside. I spent 22 months in Afghanistan. I was hunting Bin Laden's punk-ass. To me, [traveling] is fun. I got my dog on the road, you know? I actually like this. There's a lot of people that don't and they want to get off the streets. I like doing this. I meet new people everyday. I'm in a different city once a month. I see more of America than most people."


After Kan left the Marines, he said he tried to adjust to normal life. "I went home [to Boston], I got married, I had two kids. I stayed home for awhile, but my girl just told me she didn't like my attitude any more, that I should go find myself again. I've been on the road this time for nineteen. months, since August of '09." Kan says his wife is supportive of his endeavors and that she used to be a traveler as well. "We hopped freight trains together, back in '06, '07. She's used to it."


What sticks out the most to Kan in his travels is how frequently he gets arrested for petty charges. "I got arrested in New Orleans for impersonating a human being. Sh** you not. They live by Napoleonic law down there, which means the police, if they don't like you, they can come up [to you] and make up a charge. Especially three weeks before Mardi Gras and a week after – and then Mardi Gras is two weeks. That's like six weeks that they can make up charges on you. I had a friend get arrested for obstructing the flight path of a pigeon... I got arrested in [Bloomington] for sleeping in a parking lot. I still got the criminal trespass from court. They gave me time served, but I wasn't criminally trespassing. Trespassing is breaking into the abandoned building, not sleeping in their parking lot.... I get arrested for hitchhiking all the time. I just got kicked out of Kentucky. The state troopers told me they don't want to hear my name playing over the radio ever again in the state of Kentucky. Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Kentucky, sometimes in Indiana, sometimes in Illinois, [hitchhiking] all depends on the state trooper or the county or local cops.... Florida will arrest you on the violation of the vagrancy law. That's the only state I've ever been to that will arrest you for vagrancy. You need to have at least forty dollars on you [to not be arrested]. You see I carry the backpack? They'll weigh it or they'll look and see if it's bigger than what it's 'supposed' to be, and if it is, they'll arrest you for being a vagrant.... Usually they won't mess with me or arrest me now that I have a dog. They don't want to call animal control... it's too much paperwork to put in the pound and then they got to do my paperwork. A lot of them won't arrest me, but there's still dickheads that will. They forget that this country was founded on travelers."


The state that treats the homeless the best, Kan says, is Massachusetts. "They give you free health care. If you have a disability, they'll put you on disability real quick. They'll get you off the streets. They have what they call a Section 8 Lottery. All you have to do is put your name in the lottery and they'll give you free housing. Ten thousand people put their name in the lottery, and within seven months, five thousand of them will be off the streets. That's a Democrat state for you. As much as I don't like the Democrats, Massachusetts, man... they help you."


While Kan and I were talking outside the Shalom Community Center, a police car drove through the lot slowly, obviously checking out the crowd. The sight took me by surprise. I asked if the police were allowed to just make rounds through a privately-owned shelter during business hours. "They come through here all the time. They don't care. They can come and snatch people up." I ask if the shelters can do anything about that. Kan replied, "Nope. I don't think they have sanctuary law in this state. Massachusetts is a big Christian state, so if [the homeless] are on church property, it's sanctuary law. The only way the cops can get you is if the minister or priest says that they can come and get you. Without their permission, the cops can't come on the property."


As Kan and I finished our discussion, he expressed his thoughts about the current economic downturn and how it could relate back to homelessness. "I forget the exact amount, but I think it's like twenty-something percent of America is one paycheck away from being homeless. They say the recession is over? I don't see it. I see all these college kids all excited that they're going to get out of college with this bulls**t major. There's like twenty million other motherf***ers going for [the same job]. I met [a college kid] when I first started traveling. He said, 'I'm gonna travel for the summer. I just graduated. I'll have a job by the fall. I seen him nine months later, you know? [Just a] dirty traveler. I was like, 'What happened?' He said, 'No one would hire me. And I like this [traveling] life.' I said, 'Alright cool. Welcome to it.' This life... it's not for everybody, but it's for some people."

Keith F. from Shalom Community Center in Bloomington, Indiana

In the Eighties, Keith* (see below) became involved in illegal activities and was incarcerated for thirteen years. "I was running prostitution and selling drugs. Mothers would bring their daughters over, fifteen, sixteen-years-old. More or less, they would pawn them off for drugs. At the time – that's been many years ago – [my friends and I] thought it was real cool. I admit now that I was in the wrong. I'm not in denial and there's no reason to be. I feel disappointed in myself. At the time, I wasn't even thinking." While in jail, Keith's family was killed, though he did not elaborate on details. "That's very mentally disturbing. If I didn't have a place like the [Shalom Community Center], it could be catastrophic. There's [homeless] people that go to the extent of just giving up and committing suicide... You look at [the homeless] that try to do good. Some people have a criminal background, and if they didn't have a place to go get food, clothing, they would resort back to criminal activity."


While Keith was in prison, he used his time wisely. "I developed more mental skills, social skills. I got my bachelor's of science in General Studies with a minor in psychology and geography. I have never felt so good in my life as after I earned that degree. You look at things differently. It's brought me self-esteem, it's helped me grow. It's changed my life."


In jail, he suffered a potentially deadly infection called paronychia, a skin infection that occurs around the nails. "I lay there suffering for nearly thirty-six hours before the [guards] finally took me to the hospital. The pain was torturous, [physically and mentally]. By then, the infection had spread [from the nails] through me. One of the officers taunted me by saying, 'Listen to him crying for a Tylenol.' Yes, I was crying for a Tylenol. I felt lower than an animal and it got to me mentally. There was no reason for doing that. I wasn't there to be mistreated, but stuff like that goes on everyday. It's covered up by the system. My doctor was irate. He had called the jailhouse hours before, [but they never informed me]. Two years later, [my finger] still isn't the same. The nerve endings are shot."

Keith had been released fom jail about six days prior to our conversation. During this time, he has been homeless and has relied on shelters to get by. "I stay at a place called Martha's House. It's a place where people like me who've just gotten out of prison can go and stay for shelter. There's also the Community Kitchen next door where you can go and eat. Shalom Community Center provides breakfast and lunch, and Martha's House provides dinner. There's also a place called Volunteers in Medicine, which is state-funded for the homeless. It's where people like me who take several medications [can get their prescriptions refilled]. Wonderful! Another place is Work One. That's where you go sign up and have people who assist you with resumes, and with a job. There's vocational rehab there, as well. The more you try to better yourself, the better it is in the long run, and it keeps your mind busy."


The generosity of the Shalom Community Center specifically has touched him. "It's a wonder that we've got a place that's nice like this. It helps provide for people that don't have anything. Society looks down on people they consider lower-class, but the thing of it is, not everything is perfect. People try to do the best they can with what they've got. Some people that's never had much, they understand that. They just go with the flow. There's people that get in situations where they have to rely on places like the Shalom Center just for help and assistance. The clothes I'm wearing now we're donated and thank God for something like that. I just picked up a pair of shoes and I found a belt. I had a wonderful breakfast. Wonderful! That helps people build their self-esteem and it gives them some dignity. Psychologically, [being out on the streets] can be very mentally damaging. It alters your mind and you get desperate. It's by the grace of God that I came down here."


*Unfortunately, I was not able to photograph Keith. Here's somewhat of a visualization: He was in his fifties, heavyset, and about 5'8" or 5'9". His hair was completely white and he was balding on the top. He wore a ball-cap and carried a briefcase and backpack with him. I know this description does not replace a photo by any means, but it's what I can do for now!

Tane from Tulsa, Oklahoma

Tane is originally from Pennsylvania, where she grew up on a farm. When she was 16, she left home and moved to Arkansas. "Basically, I'm a loner. I've lived by myself most of my life, even in relationships. I've got three kids, all grown now. I had a difficult childhood. I was one of those... kids you see on Ritalin nowadays, just real active, getting in trouble, and hyperactive. My mother put that to good use... she used to keep me home from school to do the housework so she could sleep all day She worked my little heinie off. I was molested and I'm missing fingers, don't know how it happened. I was four years old when that happened. They could have been either bitten off by a horse or deliberately cut off; [the latter] was my first possible encounter with the person who was hurting me as a child. As soon as I graduated high school, I was out on my own. I left, I'd had enough of a nasty divorce between parents. I've moved around ever since I graduated high school; just always moved from place to place to place. I've gotten to the age – I'll be 48 in August – where I'm ready to settle down, I'm tired. I've always struggled, and it seems I've always worked hard, but I think people learn to take advantage of that."


Tane's children are grown, but scattered across the United States. "My oldest son, he's 26. He lives in Owasso, Oklahoma, but he's also having trouble [finding a job] right now... my middle child, my daughter Tanya, she's in Florida. I have a grandchild, she'll be four in August. My youngest, she'll be 21, she lives in Arkansas. I put her through school, so she's just getting back on her feet. She's got her own place."


Tane's been without work for a little over a year, and she's been homeless for the past nine months. While this current time isn't the first time she's been homeless, she says she's always managed to "pick herself back up within a few days. I had myself a job, had a place to stay, but I'm finding that, as I've gotten older, I think I'm being bypassed on a lot of jobs that I have years of experience for – anything from cleaning out stalls to running heavy equipment to doing office work – for younger college-educated kids nowadays. I think that's a lot of what... I see here in the homeless shelters."


She continues: "The reason I become homeless [this current time] is because my last job was working as a receiving clerk at a company called 'Street and Performance' in Mena, Arkansas. I'd been there almost five years. I was starting to miss a few days. I was struggling. The job was high-stress... it was paying me seven dollars an hour for almost five years. They're hiring new people on to stand around and train, to grind on parts at [eight-fifty an hour]. I started hearing a lot of little... comments that I don't tolerate from anybody, supervisor or anybody. If I'm working hard and doing my job well, you don't come up with a smart-ass remark to me about this or that. Anyway, I had gotten a two-day suspension with no pay for something a customer said we messed up his parts. I had the owner's son back up my [end] of the story, but it didn't matter, I still got a two-day suspension with no pay. [Besides that], they had cut my hours back. I was making a hundred dollars less a week than when I had started there, they were cutting me back so bad. Plus, putting my daughter through school. I thought, 'That's it. Piss on them.' That's when I started looking for another job. Mena's a town of about six thousand so, you know, work was limited there, but once again, everywhere I applied, they were hiring... I was losing my home before I ever quit my job because I couldn't pay the rent. I moved in with my adopted father and stepmother. There was a lot of negativity in [that home] and I just couldn't take it anymore. Eventually, we started not getting along and they kicked me out. I haven't talked to them since, and that was about nine, ten months ago. I won't ever go back."


While she's dealt with periods of homelessness in the past – "usually just a night or two" - Tane declares that "this is the first time in my life that I've ever been in a shelter. Times before I've either slept on a park bench or gone camping. I went camping for two weeks before I came here.... I was scared to death to come here... never seen the inside of [a homeless shelter]. You just think of the movies and TV shows and soup kitchens and stuff like this; little old men, bag ladies, that's what I was thinking of. I'm kinda missing that camp site out by the lake."


Tane has been at the Tulsa Day Center for the Homeless for over a month now and has had to learn quickly how to deal with the other residents. "I think a lot of the attitude [of the homeless] that we see here is just... hateful. It goes both ways: people who are drugged out or drunk, coming in here fighting; drug deals gone bad. There's a lot of thieving... lot of stealing.... I try to pay attention as much as I can, but try to keep myself distant from [everything]. I keep to myself. I do safeguard my stuff. I've learned to stash it, to hide it, disguise it, and just... you learn all kinds of little tricks. You learn real quick. If you don't, there's something wrong with ya.... I think having to deal with that will harden you to a point where you're coming back with an attitude."


Tane sums up her time at the Tulsa Day Center by saying, "This place is frustrating, it's depressing." She's received several diseases in the month that she's been staying there. "Anything from athletes foot to head lice to bronchial infections. I've had to deal with every bit of it. You just have to survive here, you know?" She feels that there is an oppressiveness that hangs over the entire center. "I believe it has a lot to do with the administration; just a lot of little rules. They'll treat you sometimes like you're in jail... if we get caught buying a cigarette for a quarter, we can be barred... for tax reasons. We can't lay down during the day. Some of us are sick, but we have to have a fever to be able to lay down. That's one thing I dealt with when I first [arrived]. I was sick for three weeks, exhausted, wasn't sleeping, wasn't used to the noise and activity. Late at night, people are waking you up, arguing and fighting and drama. You're running a low-grade fever off and on, but when [the nurses] check you, you don't have a fever so you can't lay down. You can't go into a room to get away just to rest, it's not allowed."


At the Tulsa Day Center, Tane says, it's up to you to get back on your feet. "You have to have voicemail, you have to go through a case worker to have voicemail. If you have voicemail, then you can get on the computers. All these little things that you try to do will get you a little further, but you're still required to get out there and do the legwork. I've had so many setbacks here myself. I've tried to file for unemployment and I can't because, half the year was in Arkansas, half the year was [in Tulsa], so I'd either have to go back to Arkansas or go through the unemployment department here.... To go down to the unemployment office to claim benefits, you have to have [applied] for five [jobs] a week, you have to see this caseworker over here for bus tokens, but [that caseworker] won't give them to you, so they'll recommend you see a different caseworker. It makes it really hard. It's setback after setback. So I gave up on filing for unemployment... I get no money in."


Much like Will, Tane has been applying for jobs in the Tulsa area with little to no results. "All the jobs, I've put a lot of [applications] out there, every single one I've applied for was hiring. And I've gotten no chances at interviews, none whatsoever.... I was promised a job by another homeless guy here. He claims to be getting his job back in Cheyenne, Wyoming." She had overheard this man discuss the potential job all the time and she approached him saying, "'You need a housekeeper and cook.' He said, 'No, I might possibly need somebody in the office.' I've been waiting on this for awhile now..." Tane's not sure whether he's leading her on or if he's sincere, but she says, "If it falls through, this job, I'm very seriously considering hitchhiking out of here. I can no longer take this place."

Despite her time in the Day Center for the Homeless, Tane still doesn't view herself as a "homeless person." "I still see myself as one of the innocents, you know? As far as this place is concerned, people that live on the street, they lie and steal, cheat and rob ya. Not all of them do that, I guess. There are some good people here who care and have faith in God and try to walk a straight path; do the right thing and look out for ya, watch each other's backs." Her willingness to trust others has led to struggles at the Day Center, but she still hasn't succumbed to defeat. "I've always been one to trust and work together with who I work with. I can be a little bossy, I can be a little opinionated, a little controlling. I like to be in charge. I've always been an independent woman. When I'm competing with somebody else here, I can be a little testy, but I've always tried to give everybody the benefit of the doubt.... I see myself as looking like a fool [for trusting], but I'm still hangin' in there, still hoping, still having faith."



Some of Tane's hobbies include drawing, reading, woodcarving, beadwork, writing poetry, and photography. This is a copy of an eagle that Tane drew:

A Method to the Madness

Hello friends, well-wishers, and passers-by,

I thought that I would give you a brief glimpse into the workings behind this project. Once I'm finished with the project – at least this incarnation – I will elaborate in more detail, but for now, I'm just going to answer a few questions/comments I get on a regular basis:


1. "Are you going to be staying in shelters and living with the homeless?"

No, I have not been staying in shelters. I have hundreds of dollars worth of equipment on me that I don't want to get stolen – most of which is integral to the project. I stay at friends and families' houses, and I've also stayed with people from CouchSurfing.org.

2. "So do you just approach people on the street and talk with them?"

No, and not because of fear, but for simple self-respect. As I am a person who does not look homeless and who has zero background with the homeless, I do not want to just approach a random person and ask them to elaborate about themselves. Some might say that I could get away with doing this, that some homeless people might be really open to it, but I personally don't feel right about doing so. I always go through ministries or shelters.


3. "How many shelters do you plan to visit? We have plenty of shelters here in ::insert town/city here::."

Usually, because of time and travel restrictions, I have only had time to visit one shelter. There has been an instance or two where I probably could have gone to more shelters, but for the most part, I've been restricted. Also, I have learned as I've gone along that it's good to communicate with the shelter beforehand. Sometimes it takes them a day or two to find a couple people for me to talk with, and as I'm only in a certain place for a limited time, it usually seems/feels like I'm on a time crunch; also, not every shelter/ministry has been receiving of my intentions, though the majority have. I would not be opposed to talking to numerous homeless people from the same area, but also, my goal has been to chronicle the homeless around America. For me, this means not focusing heavily on one place.

4. "How are you getting around?"

In Kansas City, Missouri, I was informed of a Greyhound pass that allows you to have unlimited travel for a month, so I've been using that to get around. I'm pretty sure it's the cheapest way to travel in the States right now, unless you want to hitchhike. Once I get to the Greyhound station, friends, family, or Couchsurfers will pick me up. After that, I am pretty much reliant on them for rides. Unless I get used to the layout of the city, I am awful with public transportation and figuring out how to get around. Were I to take a public bus around any given town, I would get lost without question.

5. "How long are you going to be out and about?"

A fantastic question! I'm not sure.

I hope this has answered some questions for you, if indeed, you had any questions about this endeavor. If anybody has a question for me, feel free to post it in the comments section.

 I'll be posting a new profile tomorrow. Stay tuned!

Ezekiel from Kansas City, Missouri

Ezekiel, 36, is from Kansas City, Missouri, and while he has never been homeless, he has experienced everything the dark side of life has to offer. He has undergone severe poverty since his childhood and suffered physical and emotional abuse from family, friends, and peers. For a time, he was addicted to drugs and alcohol. This life of pain produced in him a self-loathing that haunted him for years, and it is only recently, through accepting Jesus as his Savior, that he has been able to break the cycle of poverty in his life.

After his family moved to Laredo, Texas, Ezekiel admits there were neverending difficulties. Both his mother and father were uneducated, neither could find work, and all they had was a cramped, rundown apartment. "It was like a half-bedroom," he jokes. He and his two siblings slept on a mattress outside of their parents' bedroom door. They couldn't afford heat, nor did their shower work, so their mother bathed them outside with water she heated up from the stove. They had to constantly borrow food from family and friends, and their mother would pick up clothes for them in the trash. For years, his parents would argue and his mother would threaten to leave the family. "We'd be screaming from the backseat of the car, our voices pleading with her not to leave," he says. "She couldn't leave because she had no place to go either." Essentially, Ezekiel lived in Depression-era conditions, except in the context of the late Seventies.

When his parents eventually found jobs, they had to find a place for Ezekiel to stay during the summers while they were at work. He would get dropped off at his uncle's house, but it wasn't the ideal place for a small child to be. "They would party and drink a lot and always have lots of people over..." At the age of 10, Ezekiel experienced abuse at the hands of his extended family. "At some point, I didn't know why or what was happening, but my aunt and some of my cousins molested me... I felt lost, I couldn't tell anybody. I mean, who would I tell anyway? This was part of my dad's family, I couldn't just say, 'Hey Dad, by the way...' you know?"

From kindergarten to high school, Ezekiel had to struggle with constant bullying because of his family's poverty. "I was the dorky kid everyone would pick on," he said. "They beat me up, they called me names, they would steal my lunch money – it's stuff you see in the movies, but it actually happened to me." It didn't help that basic hygiene wasn't taught to him. Because of his trashy clothes, he would smell. He also admittedly had bad breath and he earned the nickname "Skunk" during this time. More than once, bullies would take him to a back alley, beat him, and say, "'Skunk, you look a little dry' and then they would pee on me." Because of his lack of a support system, Ezekiel didn't know how to make sense of the bullying. "I grew up thinking, well, maybe I am ugly. Nobody liked me or wanted to be my friend."

On top of the bullying, Ezekiel barely continued forward in school. Near the end of 6th grade, he discovered that he would have to stay behind. "I didn't want to stay, I wanted to get better," he said, so he sought out tutors that helped him pass to the next grade. While he still had to take mostly special-ed classes in 7th grade, he was allowed to take a computer class with the "normal" students. It was in this computer class where a teacher first challenged his way of thinking about himself: "My teacher said, 'Ezekiel, why don't you look in the mirror every morning and tell yourself, you are beautiful. I don't know if she saw the bullying or anything, but I believe God sent her to me. I went home, looked in the mirror, and I couldn't see myself clearly. I hated myself. Finally, I got a good look and said it, said, 'You are beautiful.' I thought I was crazy." Soon after, he said this to himself again in what he thought was an empty classroom. Some kids overheard him and made fun of his admission. "After that, the negative feelings came back. I felt like I was back at square one."

While Ezekiel had given his life to Christ at age 16 at youth camp, he says, "I didn't really know what it meant. I went up to the front because everyone else was doing it." He had no mentor or pastor to guide him into a life with Christ, so he continued to do whatever numbed his internal pain. High school came and went without him graduating, and as a result, Ezekiel says, "I turned into a lazy bum." Feeling directionless without a job or school, he began to hang out with "the wrong crowd." "My friends liked to party, drink, do drugs. That's when I started doing all of that stuff. I liked it so much, those same friends thought I needed help! That's how bad it got. For awhile, anyway." During this time, his father enrolled him in a private Christian high school – something he worked extra hours to maintain – but the only thing Ezekiel took away from there were two Christian friends he made named Jeremy and Charlie. For the first time in his life, Ezekiel felt like he had met people who genuinely liked him for who he was. He ended up not finishing at the private school and instead, obtained his GED through a program at the local community college. Nevertheless, his time with Jeremy and Charlie would influence his direction towards Kansas City, Missouri and his eventual salvation.

Soon after getting his GED, Ezekiel wanted to move out of Laredo, Texas. Jeremy and Charlie had moved to Kansas City, Missouri and had invited him up to move in with them. They were insistent upon him coming with them. "My dad got frustrated because they would call me every morning. Seriously." Eventually, his dad gave him some of his own money for a bus ticket and he left to go live with his friends. "I didn't have a plan or a future, but I was out of Laredo."

Ezekiel saw Kansas City as a means of escape from Laredo and the negative influences in that town, but he continued to struggle with his life choices there. "I got into a gothic group called 'The Crow,' after the movie. We would drink and take drugs, but they were also into really perverted stuff, like making out with each other. They also pretended to be vampires and sucked on each others' blood. It was unbelievable." During this debaucherous period, he was pulled over several times for having no car tags or insurance. Eventually, he was arrested and had to go to jail for a couple nights before he could go to court. It was here that he began to be serious about his faith: "I was trying to get help [in jail], but no one was helping me. There was no way out. So when I was there, I cried out 'Lord, if you get me out of this mess, I will do whatever you want.' Of course, anyone would say that, but I know now that the Lord held me to it.'"

After his brief stay in jail, Ezekiel became plugged in with a church in Kansas City, Missouri named Solomon's Court. It was here where he met his mentor, the head pastor named Mark Schmidt. Pastor Schmidt even allowed Ezekiel to stay with him for awhile because his friends, Jeremy and Charlie, had kicked him out over his lifestyle. "I didn't have any wisdom, knowledge or responsibility. The pastor took me in anyway. He saw something in me that I didn't see." Instead of allowing Ezekiel to linger on his couch, the pastor put him to work. Before church one Sunday, Pastor Schmidt brought him down to the church basement. "The janitor brought me a mop and he said, 'I want this basement spotless and clean before church starts.' I was complaining the whole time I cleaned, but I realize now that the Lord was teaching me discipline and responsibility." Once Pastor Schmidt saw that Ezekiel was serious about turning his life around, he enrolled him in some Bible classes. From there, he started working in ministries to feed the homeless, and has been engaged with the church ever since.

Today, Ezekiel's life has been completely turned around and he is using his own life experiences to bless others. He is the youth pastor of Restoration Church in inner-city Kansas City, Missouri; he is on the Healing Team at the International House of Prayer; and he's also on the staff at the Kids Center in Hope City, a homeless outreach. In regards to his youth group, where he says many leaders have simply left the kids because they couldn't handle the stress, he states, "I made them a promise. I told them I'm not quitting on them because I don't want to be one of those who has gotten discouraged and left. I just love them." In reflection upon his own life, Ezekiel ponders, "I feel like I was like an onion and God just had to peel off all my layers of hurt and pain. He had to break down walls.... Being connected with the International House of Prayer and Hope City and Restoration Church and now having friends from all around the world [through IHOP], I can see that the Lord has brought back what the enemy has stolen from me, and doubled it. Thinking of myself when I was younger and looking at myself in the mirror now, I can say, 'Yes, the Lord has made me wonderful.'"

Will "Zubanello" - Tulsa Day Center for the Homeless

Will got his first taste of poverty and homelessness after he and his wife divorced in 2007. "I walked sixty-four miles from Muskogee, Oklahoma to [Tulsa]. When I got here, I knew that [the Tulsa Day Center] existed. I didn't know anybody I could go to, so this is where I came to put a roof over my head. But I knew that I could get work, so that's what I did. I found work downtown at IBM as a maintenance man. After about a year and a half working there, IBM moved most of their workers down to Houston, Texas. I basically lost my job. I had a two-month period where I didn't have work, so I came to [the Day Center] again. I started working at the University of Tulsa and [while working there] basically got nailed in the divorce. [My wife] went to prison for writing bad checks, I got nailed by all her bad checks, charging things... I've been paying a large amount of child support: nine hundred dollars per child for two children. Between that and the $93,000 she left me in debt, I was not seeing [much money]. To give you an example, one of the checks I got from the University of Tulsa – and I made good money there as a maintenance man – I ended up with a two-week check of twenty-eight dollars and seventy cents."

Unlike many that I've interviewed, Will has experienced both prosperity and poverty. "I was married for twenty-four years. We had five children. I've always worked. Some of the jobs I've had [during my marriage] are working at a tire plant, making tires for Firestone in Des Moines, Iowa – where I'm from. I made really good money. I worked for T.D. Williamson here in Tulsa, welding. In the years I've lived in Tulsa [at a time where I wasn't homeless], I've helped build the Promenade Mall, the South Roads Mall, the third story on the Dillards out at Woodland Hills Mall. I worked in the state of Wyoming and managed a log home business, and unfortunately, because I fired a young man who didn't want to do his job, he went and talked to his father who was an outstanding attorney in the state of Wyoming. His father filed a lawsuit that was a defamation of character against the company and it was easier for them to get rid of me than to fight a lawsuit. I ended up being on the streets in Cheyenne the last month I was up there. I went from driving a $60,000 Dodge mega-cab 4x4 truck and having a nice home to live in – that were perks of managing the company – to going back on the streets and walking around with my bags, being embarassed, people knowing me in the Cheyenne area. I think if anything about... being homeless is the worst, it's the embarassment. I never once thought I would be in this situation."


Will doesn't feel that some who survive with the help of the Tulsa Day Center want to escape from their current homelessness, and that the Day Center is partially to blame for that. "If you've got that kind of situation where people are so freely given the easement of life, in a sense, a lot of them won't go out and find the work, whereas guys like me who want to work and want to get their butts out of this situation, in some ways, can't in the city of Tulsa.... Some people here [at the Day Center], a lot of them are very nice.... There's several people here... I guess you might call them 'holdovers' and they've never left because they don't know what to do in real life. They're stuck here in this environment. In some ways, you can tell who they are. I think the Day Center... tries to help people, but in some ways, I think they make it too easy for people to stay here. I'm not a guy who likes a lot of rules, but I'm starting to think that this system is wrong. Maybe they should change it and make things more limited, as far as like a timespan that people can stay here. People aren't leaving. When the economy gets better, I think a lot of people will leave. But the economy hasn't gotten better."


As Will reflects on his life, he reveals his belief that, some of his difficulties in finding a job, stem from the current economy. "Right now, I'm 59 years old. I'm a father of seven [with two children from a previous marriage], a grandfather, and a great-grandfather. I never once thought I would be in this kind of position in my life. I've owned four houses through the years – new homes. I've worked all my life. I've been married three times, but I've always bounced back. Now because of the way life is and how the economy is, we've sold so many of our jobs overseas that a lot of the work that people used to depend on and live by, you can't depend on it anymore. I'm a machine operator, a welder, and construction worker. A lot of [people without jobs] can't go back to this kind of stuff because there's just no jobs. When you've got that kind of environment... it just creates [homelessness]."


One particular experience has shaped Will's outlook on his own homelessness. "One of the most embarassing situations I've had since [I became homeless], when I was in the program over at Salvation Army to go and get drug tested – which I understood – but they would not allow us to leave our belongings over at the Salvation Army. We had to drag suitcases, plastic bags with clothes in them... to the rich side of town here in Tulsa. Kids in nice cars were going by and saying 'Look at the homeless! Look at the bums!' We're sitting here carrying what we own, unfortunately, and being forced to do that, and these people aren't used to seeing people in their neighborhood like that. It was truly one of the most embarassing things I've had to do in my life. In fifty-nine years, I've been through quite a bit, but that was a mind-shaker for me."


Right now, Will survives day to day, like every individual experiencing homelessness. He has a plan for his future, but he doesn't see a way out of his current situation. "My main concern is, with my age and stuff, I'm not a person that's going to be hireable. I've got things figured out that, when I turn seventy, the Marine Corp and the VA are going to give me money for retirement to live off of. I've held [money] back all these years, so I will be ok. But right now... I just have to live like this. When I came back [to Tulsa], I honestly thought I could stay with my kids, but it just didn't work out." Will did not elaborate on his relationship with his children.


He continues: "I'm gonna go back out [to the Day Center] in a minute and carry [my bags] to the shelter that I stay at here in Tulsa and wait to see if I even get a bed. I served my country three times in Vietnam. I did thirty-nine months in the Vietnam War and I have to live in a shelter. It just doesn't seem right. That's where I'm at right now. I've personally gone through my own hell dealing with this and I wouldn't wish this upon anybody. I really wouldn't."