A story from my Homelessness Journal
At any one time in this country there are 6 million homeless
men, women and children. As one might think, most homeless people are located
in the urban areas of every major city in the US. My story begins – and ends in Seattle,
Washington. On September 19th 2009 at 4:30 pm I became homeless for
the first time in my life. After being
arrested for a bogus Domestic Violence charge (and for which I was eventually
exonerated) I walked out of the King County Jail wearing the clothes I was
arrested in and could not go home because my now ex-wife had filed a no-contact
order with the court while I was in jail awaiting my arraignment. I have not
been home since. Everything I owned was
either thrown away or given away by my ex-wife. I lost my car, my apartment, my
clothes, family pictures, furniture, and my dignity.
All of these events happened within a
two week time period. It is indeed a
rare and shocking feeling to walk out of a county jail and not have any money,
no one to come and get you, and no place to go if someone did. After the
initial shock of my circumstances wore off, (and I want to stress the word initial
because I am still shocked every morning I wake up in some park or alley) I
began to feel angry. Not at my ex-wife
so much as at myself for allowing this to happen in the first place. That day was the first day of a five year
Odyssey of homelessness that is still playing out at the time of this
writing. Not much has changed since that
first day, but I have learned a lot about myself and social service network in
King County that I did not know prior to this experience. But even now – at this moment, writing this
journal I don't know where I will be sleeping tonight. However, back in those
early years of homelessness, I had a couple of friends – including the mother
of my now 16 year old son, who helped me and gave me a place to sleep on many a
cold night. In fact, I am quite sure I
would not be sitting here at the Convention Center writing this if it had not
been for the great hospitality of my son's mother Karen, who allowed me to live
with her for free for on two occasions; the first was for almost a year and the
second for over a year. Her help saved
my life, no doubt about it.
It has been said that if you look close enough, everyone's
life is an amazing story. If that is
true, I believe that every homeless person's story is even more amazing. The
face of homelessness is not what it was 10 years ago. There are, however, some
iconic images of homelessness that are still the same – the bum on the street
wearing old tattered clothes asking passers-by for spare change. Those people
are still out there- everywhere, but the modern homeless person could look just
like you.
The Night Jacob Gave me a Pillow
By late July 2012 I'd gotten very tired of sleeping in the
downtown Shelters. One of the things I
hated most about shelters was having to show up at 7:00 pm when the weather was
hot and the days were long. I'd slept
outside for three days in a row having made a decision to let the weather
decide my night time destination. If it
was hot, or stayed warm at night I'd sleep outside, if it was colder, I would
sleep in the shelter. The problem with
that strategy was once I made a decision not to stand in line at the shelter, I
couldn't change my mind. The shelters are always full and they rarely have room
for someone who was not in line once the doors shut for the night. On the fourth day in a row sleeping outside,
it was around 85 degrees and the downtown corridor was gearing up for Seattle's
annual torchlight parade. I watched the
empty floats and carriages go by that would later hold happy, waiving hands,
being pulled by loping horses past their prime.
The previous night I'd slept at a construction site where a
massive apartment complex was in the early stages of development. This was one of most dangerous and scary
experiences I ever had being homeless.
It was about 11:00 PM and I had spent the day at the park playing
basketball and watching people do what they do when they are not homeless. After a brief survey of the construction
site, I climbed the six-foot cyclone fence and warily walked into the first
open doorway I saw. The inner part of the buildings were only frames of what
would become living spaces for those who could afford the rent. Nails and other
building materials were scattered in a kind of organized chaos that made sense
only to those hired to erect the structures.
There was no glass in the windows yet, and the place smelled of freshly
cut wood and roofer's tar. I'd drank
some beer earlier so I thought once I found a place to lay down I would go
right to sleep. By the time I'd walked
around the place looking for escape routes in case the police came, I could not
sleep when I found a safe place. I'd
learned my lesson about taking all my stuff with me when I found a safe, but
enclosed construction site. I found out
the hard way that you are only as safe as your ability to get away if trouble
finds you.
I never take more than I can carry on my back to a place
where I might have to jump a fence, or slip through a narrow exit. So I stashed
my four bags in some dense bushes on the side of a nearby house.
As I lay down to sleep on some cardboard I’d laid down over
the concrete floor of the unfinished apartments, street lights cast long eerie
shadows along the cold concrete floor and walls that reminded me of something
out of a twilight zone movie. To
distract myself, I tried to imagine how the rooms would look when they were
finished. As a slightly warming breeze casually blew into the room, I closed my
eyes and tried to picture how I would decorate and furnish the place if it were
mine. I didn't get too far with that –
the reality of it being so far removed from my current position made it almost
impossible for me to see myself ever having a real apartment again. Then I saw the police lights. The lights shone from east end of the block
and they were coming directly toward the apartment complex. Two police cruisers
slowly crept up the street like the long arm of the law reaching out for
me.
I was three stories up in a relatively dark space, so I
didn't think anyone had seen me but I couldn't be sure. I didn't know for sure if the police were
just doing some late night cruising or if someone had called them. Any good thief always practices the, “better
safe than sorry” rule. I gathered my stuff
feeling thankful that I had followed my other rule of not bringing too much
stuff with me in case what was happening now happened to happen. However, I had two problems that would make
my successful escape a challenge. Number one, the police cruisers were now
sitting directly in front of the window where I was hiding with their driving
lights shining into my window so I couldn't leave through the doorway without
being seen. Second, I was drunk. Not so drunk that I could think straight or
move with deliberateness, but drunk enough to know I was drunk. The police cruisers had turned in opposite
directions like they do when they want to talk to each other out of their
drivers’ side windows.
I was almost trapped. Even though there were no walls I still
could not leave the room without going out of the front entrance. I had to leave
through the frame of the front door because the spacing between the two by
fours which framed the room were too close together for me to fit through. I sat there thinking how stupid of an idea it
was to try to find a safe and secluded place at a damned construction site.
Seemed like a good idea at the time, I thought.
Finally I decide to go for it. I
still wasn't sure if they were even there for me, or if they were just cruising
the neighborhood. If not getting caught
in a private construction site was number 22 on my list of stupid things not to
do, panicking and causing the cops to see you when they weren't even looking
for you is number 21. Yet still, I was too afraid to stay in that room with
them out there. I took a breath and got
on my stomach not caring about the cement dust and dirt that was getting all
over me. I dove toward the door frame and the blaring spot light coming from
the police car pointed in my direction.
I salamandered out into the hall, got to my feet and turned...left, then
right, then right again, then another left and one more right. I was lost.
I could not find an exit or the stairway that lead to the
ground floor. After running around for
10 minutes I ended up in the basement and all that separated me from freedom
was a driveway leading up and out...but it ended in plain view of both police
cars. That was the only exit so I had to go back up to the ground floor. I was beginning to get a little worried that
in my haste I was going to make a mistake like run by a window and they would
see me if they hadn't already. There
were hanging lights in most of the hallways so there was always the chance of
casting a shadow and being seen.
After finally finding an exit that was on the other side of
the entire complex saw a fence I could jump and get back out into the street
and make a run for it. I could feel my heart beating fast in my chest as
decided I would try to make the jump. I
jumped the fence and landed on the grass with soft thud. I was literally about
20 feet from the blessed street as I crept around the side of a fenced in
house. One last gate and I was free. Five feet from the gate my heart sank to
my filthy running shoes. The gate was locked – and it was about 10 feet high. I
could not have jumped that fence without making a lot of noise, so I was turned
away again. My options were running out fast.
I started thinking about going to jail. I began to remember the
countless times my freedom was ripped from me over some stupid driving
infraction.
At that moment, desperate for some kind of way to find a way
out of this damned construction site, I got the idea that would save my ass
that night. I knew the cops either knew I was in the construction site or they
didn't. Deep down I really didn't think they’d seen me but I didn't want to
assume they didn't and lose my chance to escape. I also knew that this apartment was gigantic
and the further away I could get from the cops, the more noise I could make if
I had to do something ugly to get out. I found two possible escapes that would
work; one was completely on the other side of the complex, but the barrier
separating me from the street looked too difficult for me to scale. The other
exit wasn't as far away, and the escape was a simple boot-camp belly-crawl
under a cyclone fence. The only problem
was a big one that breaks the number one rule of running from the cops and that
is NEVER WALK OR RUN IN THE LIGHT.
Always stay under cover of darkness.
Unfortunately, this portal to my freedom and not going to
jail was very very well lit. Two brightly lit street lights stood about 20
yards apart and my exit was smack in the middle of both of them. My instincts told me that the police were
either still parked on the other side of the construction site, or they had
left for more interesting endeavors.
Either way, I was getting the hell out of there and it was now or
never. I took a couple of breaths and
tried to stop my mind from screaming “stop! Don't do it!! I slowly slid on my
belly down toward the hole I had dug under the cyclone fence. I took one last
look around hoping to God not to see any police vehicles cruising by. One quick burst and I was free, but also out
in the open lights. I kneeled down and
crawled along a concrete highway barrier that separated the sidewalk and the
street until I felt safe enough to unbend to my full height. Thirty seconds later I was two blocks away
and resting on someone's back porch.
Thirty minutes after that I was back downtown resting at crack-head park
as the sun came up. The morning sun was bright and warm on my face as I lay on
my back with all my bags thinking about whether or not those two cops knew I
was ever in that construction site.
It
didn’t matter now. I was free. I felt a
warm feeling of relief slowly come over me as I looked up at white clouds
slowly move in and out of my view. That
feeling was short lived however, as I slid my hands into my coat pockets and
didn't feel my cell phone. I checked my
pants pocket – no phone. Without my
phone my life would become a nightmare. Not being able to make a phone call wherever I
happened to be would make my life a lot more difficult. That phone my only way
to answer calls for a job interview, stay in touch with my son, or call DSHS
when the cancelled my food stamps because I missed a review. I had to have my phone! I had managed to keep
my cell phone for over 4 years and I wasn't about to let two damn cops keep me
from at least going back to check to see if I had left it at the construction
site. I took a deep breath and got my
ass back on the bus and went back to the site and found my phone (and my EBT
card) in the same spot I had laid myself down earlier that night. I wasn't that
surprised that it was still there, but I was very, very grateful. On the bus ride back downtown, all I could
think about was not ever getting drunk and sleeping in a place where I could be
arrested again.
That is much easier said than done, however. Most places that are relatively safe have
guards who will not hesitate to call the police on someone trespassing on the
private property. I've walked for hours
trying to find a safe and secluded place to sleep at night in Seattle. I've walked from uptown to downtown and every
place in between. I will never sleep any
place where I wake up with people around who aren't homeless. A few nights later I came upon a rare find
- a place that was already made up,
meaning some other homeless person had been there and had abandoned it.
It was the old site of the mighty, but fallen ABC Legal
Delivery. At one point, I am sure that
almost every law firm the city contracted with them to deliver legal documents
to the court, and to other persons on the wrong side of a lawsuit. After I
surveyed the area for anything too gross for me to sleep on, I unrolled my
blanket and began to kick away pine-cones, dirt, trash, and other unwanted
objects left by the previous owner of the spot.
It was a relatively safe spot, and it was out of the public eye even
though it was downtown.
As with most times I find a spot that has been slept in by
some other homeless person, I worry that I might catch some disease or be
sleeping on old urine or worse. I have to put those kinds of thoughts out of my
mind or I will not be able to stay there. Most times there is always a musty
stench that can only be from a human. After a while you just get accustomed to
the smell and go to sleep. This particular night was no different. As I lay on my blanket disgusted by the
smell, the filth, and my life in general, a young man walked by and asked me if
I wanted a pillow. Anyone who has ever
experienced homelessness will know that a pillow is like gold. I have rested my
homeless head on shoes, shirts, pants, rocks, suit-cases and anything else I
could find, but having a soft pillow is a rare thing for a homeless
person. I accepted his offer of the
pillow and slept a hell of a lot better that night. I slept there for one
night, I came back two nights later and the whole property was enclosed inside
a 12-foot tall cyclone fence – with my new pillow inside of it.
That was that.
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