how to live homeless in style

8/20/2019 How to Live Homeless in Style

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how to live

homeless

in

style Dr. Robert Spalding

Spalding Publishing

Signal Mountain, Tennessee


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Published by Spalding Publishing

Signal Mountain, Tennessee 37377

Printed in the United States of America

Copyright 2010© Robert Tucker Spalding, Jr.

All rights reserved

ISBN: 978-1-935803-02-7

Edited by Victoria Metcalf

Type and design by JulzGraphics • www.julzgraphics.com


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Acknowledgements

Many thanks to Victoria Metcalf for

her wonderful editorial work.

Additional thanks to Juliet Beer who designed the layout and cover art.

And finally, to Karen Stone at

Waldenhouse Publishers who always

makes a wonderful

final product come to life.


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I dedicate this book to my 4-month-old grand-

daughter, Addison who was killed by a drunk

driver on 2010 Memorial Day weekend. Her

death occurred during the editing of this book.

I also dedicate this book to the Tennessee Donor

Services who were able to give the gift of life

through Addison’s heart and organs to other de-

serving children. Trough her others will celebrate

the gift of life.


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I Foreword ................................................................................................... Page 7

Prologue: Problem solving in homeless style .............................................. Page 9

Chapter 1: How to survive homelessness in style ..................................... Page 31

Chapter 2: In search of the perfect shelter? Try the ECO Shelter ............. Page 53

Chapter 3: A sentimental journey, or a terrorist opportunity? .................. Page 81

Chapter 4: e way it was ..................................................................... Page 131

Chapter 5: Facts are facts ....................................................................... Page 151

Chapter 6: Lessons in defeet ................................................................. Page 159

Chapter 7: ere’s room at the table ...................................................... Page 167

Chapter 8: e real victims................................................................... Page 227

Chapter 9: Any place but home ............................................................. Page 244

Chapter 10: Promises not kept: How a mental health plan failed........... Page 264

Chapter 11: Easy targets ........................................................................ Page 293

Chapter 12: A lot to remember: Expressions of homelessness ................ Page 312

Chapter 13: Caveman of Signal Mountain ............................................ Page 355

Bibliography .......................................................................................... Page 372

Epilogue: .............................................................................................. Page 384


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Foreword

Have you ever been homeless? Have you known people whosuddenly found that their financial resources had come to a halt?

Did you scratch your head and wonder, “What happened?” Have

you watched as the house down the block suddenly became va-

cant and there was no moving van outside to haul away their ac-

cumulation of things? Typically when I thought of the homeless

before beginning this book, I had an idea that turned out to bevery different in many respects from what reality proved. rough

my interviews with homeless people, by visiting their camps and

through research, I’ve gained a better understanding of the situa-

tion.

As you read the chapter on PET bottle construction, please be

aware this is included to make an association with recycling and

how it can benefit all income levels from wealthy to the impover-

ished including the homeless. Remember we can all make a differ-

ence.

By including the Prologue, a fictional account of one man’s

slide into living in a back alley, I’m attempting to describe for

those who have no idea what this side of life is like, a slice of reality

as one homeless individual understands it and attempts to makehis life and some of those around him a little better, even if it’s

only one deed at a time. e Prologue gives a detailed snapshot of

one life and sets the tone for the real voices of the men and women

I have come to know over the past few months.


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PProblem solving in homeless style

Tom Finnely examined the pattern of butcher shop grade string that

crisscrossed its way over the narrow opening to his sleeping quarters. Each

strand seemed to be just as he’d left it that morning. It signaled no surprises

inside.

We’re good to go , Finnely thought as he began undoing the careful

pattern he’d laid in place. As he gathered string that stretched in an intricate

spider web pattern, he wound it into a ball, ready for the morning.

Tom’s Security System, as he thought of his quiet alarm system, was one

of the most important elements to Finnely’s peace of mind at this stage of

his life. He could, with time, replace his sleeping bags, pillow, clothing, oddsand ends of cooking gear and tiny propane stove – even, with luck, the

doublewide refrigerator box that held it all. What he couldn’t replace was

the comfortable feeling just before that awful element of surprise, fear and

deep disgust that came with finding a grubby intruder asleep on his bed or

rummaging through his things. This was Finnely’s sanctuary. If someone

was inside or had come and gone, it was vital he realize it before he poked

his head behind the curtain of landscape-grade black plastic that served ashis door. No surprises concerning his living quarters were tolerated.

Finnely’s refrigerator box home was just weeks old – the talk and envy of

the people who lived in the alleyways between blocks of abandoned brick

buildings – when the day that still haunted him occurred. He had flipped

back the plastic covering, just like he had done dozens of times before, but

this time the process revealed a man asleep on what had been his carefully

made bed. Finnely let out a shout, more in surprise than anger, as he took

in the loathsome figure curled up in his haven. Although he’d expected

something like this to happen, he had no real door to lock, no one who

could be depended on to watch. He was deeply offended and horrifically

appalled that this should happen to him.


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His feelings quickly turned to fear and disbelief as the sleeping intruder,

alarmed at the noise, quickly rolled into a sitting position and then lunged

upward and forward with a long chef’s knife, swiping through Finnely’s

heavy winter coat and deeply into his arm. Finnely recoiled with the impact

of the tramp’s body blow, yet he was so stunned he didn’t notice he was

injured.

By the time Finnely began to recover, the stranger had rushed past

him, pushing hard against him as he darted out the narrow passageway.

The force of the impact nearly knocked Finnely down, and he staggered

backwards to regain his footing. At that moment it didn’t occur to him towatch where the intruder ran, and he was just disappearing around the first

corner to a cross street when Finnely did turn his head to look.

Finnely didn’t pursue his assailant. Why? Finnely could hunt him down

and pound him senseless, maybe. But there was no point in contacting

the police; they only showed up to collect the dead and investigate the

murdered. A breaking and entering would be nothing but a big joke to

them, “Breaking into what? Your refrigerator box!” The middle-aged man,an out of work draftsman and sometime architect, pushed those thoughts

quickly out of his mind in favor of checking out the damage to his home.

Finnely’s hand dripped a rapid stream of blood that went unheeded as

he quickly glanced around at his once carefully arranged belongings. His

mind whirled as he noted the intruder’s discarded ancient clothing, knots

of his own clean apparel lying as they’d been cast aside, his meager food

stash of coffee, tea and canned goods raided and depleted. And then they

came to rest on his jumbled bedding – the heart of his sanctuary. This

morning, as always, he had shaken out each piece and replaced it neatly

on his rectangle of foam rubber. He remembered smoothing any wrinkles,

tucking in corners and sides, making sure nothing touched the floor.

He was just in the process of reaching for his sleeping bag, woolen blankets

and sheets when Arkansas Agnes’ voice finally reached through his building

head of rage.

“You OK?” asked a small woman at Finnely’s elbow. Taken on her own

she was an odd sight, nearly hidden inside a man’s army coat that was

sizes too big. A ratty gray faux fur lined hat with ear flaps pulled up and chin

straps that zinged back and forth as she moved her head were what one


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might notice on first glance. Mismatched black hiking boots covered her

small feet, and her hands were gloved despite the warm temperatures.

Given the place, however, her appearance wouldn’t have caused a

second glance. She blended in with the others. Yes, Arkansas Agnes fit

right in with the dozen or so men and women who lived in this section

of the blind alley – with the dozens more who lived in nearby matching

alleyways, the hundreds who inhabited the city, the thousands who

found similar places to live throughout the country.

“This is bad, Good Tom. Real bad,” she said through a mouth that no longer

held teeth and affected her speech. She didn’t expect her neighbor to answer,although she used the pet name given to him by the people who cared about

him. He talked when he wanted, she knew. He had some great stories when

he chose to share, and she actually believed his; they fit him. But much of the

time he was quiet, just as he was now.

“You be bleedin’ there all over, Good Tom!” she cried when he turned

toward her enough so that she could see the real damage. “He knifed ya.

Yep, he sliced you a big one.”

It was then Tom Finnely glanced down and realized that his bright red

blood was rapidly dripping into the rumpled folds of his once top-of-the-

line arctic temperature tested sleeping bag.

“Shit!” he said as he reached down and gingerly picked up the bag with

his clean right hand.

“Oh! Leave that alone now, Good Tom!” Arkansas Agnes urged as shetook hold of his arm above the cut and tried to get him to clear out of his

place. “Just drop that and I’ll see about your cut.”

Instead of dropping his bedding – a piece that had kept him warm

on the coldest nights – Finnely brushed past his alleyway companion,

straightened up once he was clear of the box, and with a string of oaths,

tossed it away from him.

Agnes watched as the blue quilted piece spun through the air, hit theside of the brick building and landed half on, half off a dilapidated lawn

chair. She wondered momentarily if he was done with it. After all, when it

dried a little blood would mean nothing to her compared to the warmth

she imagined it would give.


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It was as Finnely turned to move back into his box that Agnes steppedforward and this time grabbed the back of his coat and started to pull himaway from his shelter. She was small, but she was strong.

“You leave that be, now I’m tellin’ you. You’re gonna bleed to death if youdon’t let me look at that arm of yours.” Finnely struggled with Agnes, his thoughts in an uproar, and not takingin his own condition. “He’s ruined everything! He’s been on my bed. He’sfouled it! Damn him to Hell!” “Never you mind your damned bed, Good Tom. You’re ruining your arm.Now let me see it!” Agnes commanded, her voice rising in a tone that meant

business. It was then that Finnely glanced at his arm. The upper sleeve was laid

wide open. “He’s wrecked my coat!”

Where white stuffing should have shown against the tan, there was

nothing but red that kept spreading and soaking the bottom half of the

inner sleeve. “Damn! Ruined my coat! Son of a bitch!”

An hour had passed by the time Agnes found Finnely’s small bottle of

rubbing alcohol; heated a sewing needle with her Bic lighter and stitchedtogether the long, deep cut on Finnely’s left arm. He swore quietly, his face

a grimace, as Agnes jabbed the needle into flesh, pulled through brown

sewing thread, then jabbed it into flesh again. Back and forth the needle

went, and as she worked the small woman squinted with one eye and kept

the tip of her tongue firmly in the corner of her mouth as if it helped her

concentrate on the tedious task.

Agnes, whose real name was Karen, came from Oklahoma and not

Arkansas, and claimed that she’d worked for a vet once and helped him

during surgeries. Finnely listened to her chatter about her experiences,

mostly silent himself as he attempted to focus on her words and not the

pain that burned through his arm from the cut and the additional injury

Agnes created with her busy needle and thread. He knew he would get

a horrible infection, probably lose his arm, or at the very least the use of

it. Hunting up a doctor was out the question. The local clinic was closed

more often than it was open due to cutbacks, and the emergency unit in

the hospital was a place anyone with less than a double gunshot wound

wouldn’t care to try.


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Before the process began, Agnes had offered to send One-Legged David

over to the liquor store for some spirits to see Finnely through the ordeal.

When he declined her disappointment registered deep across her dirty face.

“We’ll get that bottle when you’re done,” he said as he noted the look.

Unlike many of the people in the nearby alleyways, Finnely chose to keep

his wits about him. He’d done his time with the bottle and pot long before

he’d had to leave behind his other life. He couldn’t afford to go back there.

He’d come this far down in the life he thought he had so carefully planned,

and he couldn’t afford to slide any deeper.

He had also witnessed what happened to those who drank or druggedthemselves into a state of oblivion. They became the prey of anyone who

thought they might have something they wanted, whether it was a filthy

coat, or a remaining stash of alcohol or drugs. And then there were the

various groups of teenagers who found sport beating up the homeless. If

someone was already out cold and couldn’t raise a fuss, so much the better.

It disgusted Finnely. It frightened others.

“We’re done,” Agnes said, rubbing a grubby hand across her drippy nose.For what must have been the hundredth time Finnely noted the deep grime

that clung to the lines and wrinkles of the small woman’s now ungloved

hands. She wasn’t as dirty as most, but she could have been cleaner, he

thought despite his gratitude for her care.

He didn’t understand the lack of cleanliness he saw in many of the

people around him. Several times a day he went to one or the other of his

usual public restrooms and washed up. He always had a bar of soap and

savored the scent of it as he lathered his hands and face, and he relished

the feel of his small towel as he dried himself.

At least once a week he headed over to a somewhat down at the heel

gym where he paid $4 for a long hot shower. He would have liked to do it

more often, but the money he earned from tutoring people at the library

didn’t go far.

Most of the people in Finnely’s realm relied on small jobs they could

pick up here and there. Many panhandled for the money that bought

them liquor and drugs. Everyone, including Finnely, relied on the daily

soup kitchen six blocks away that was staffed by the members of various

churches. Finnely appreciated the bowls of chili or beef stew, mounds of


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mashed or boiled potatoes, hot rice, grits and whatever the meat of the

day might be. He always took an extra apple or banana along for later and

generally gave his wedge of some kind of pie or small dish of pudding to

someone else at his table. He liked sweets, but giving it up was his special

way of atoning for the extra fruit he chose.

Soon, it would be a year since Finnely had found the alley where he felt

the most comfortable. He’d spent nearly two years before that drifting from

small town to city in search of work. He had found work along the way,

but nothing lasted though his appearance, size and well-spoken ways

generally earned him a second look when he applied for jobs. He’d trieduntil his unemployment ran out, his savings disappeared and his home

and family deserted him, to find work after Harder and Roche closed its

doors four years earlier. He’d built his career with them and did work on

the side for the extra things he and his family wanted. They lived in a good

house in a comfortable neighborhood, drove good cars, but not expensive

ones, and went on regular vacations. They were privileged in that they coulddo the kinds of things they wanted to do.

None of what they’d shared together mattered when the unemployment

ran out. Dell, Finnely’s wife of 17 years, gave up – at least on him. Her reasons

were numerous. She had kids who were going to be in college soon. She

needed money for them, for house payments, for clothes and shoes and

meals out and for the vacations they had come to expect. Finnely argued

that they were his kids too, and he wanted a job and money more thananyone could ever imagine. But Dell Finnely was through and had her sites

on something or someone else. Finnely could see that when he looked at

her – the woman he had always loved – and could hear it in her voice when

she talked to him.

And then one night, failure practically pouring from him, he accepted

that this part of his life was over. Sitting in the basement with the overheadlight casting odd shadows around him, he’d written long letters to each

of his three children and another to his wife. He placed them outside each

bedroom door and walked out of the house before dawn. He’d chosen

what he would take along carefully. It might need to last him a few more

months or his lifetime.


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A tiny apartment with a shared bathroom, then seedy motels, hostels,

flop houses, and then secluded spots wherever he found them became

Finnely’s life as his hunt for work became more desperate.

A job with a small chain of grocery stores seemed promising at first

and then there were layoffs. Within two weeks and no chance of a job, the

apartment went in exchange for a small room in a rundown motel. Finnely

paid by the week and did his own cleaning for a small discount and even

helped out when one of the staff didn’t show for work.

A job with a fencing company paid well by the hour, but when the job

was done, so was Finnely’s time with them. Yes, they said he was a goodworker and they liked him, but they weren’t in a position to take him on

full time. Wisely, Finnely had spent sparingly of his money and his place

at the motel was assured. The problem was that he had to walk farther

and farther away looking for work each day. Knowing the car would be an

expense he couldn’t afford, he’d left it behind for his son, Seth, to use. And

he’d purchased a used bike, but that didn’t work well in the winter on frozen

streets and in the snow. If Finnely stopped to consider it, he could trace all the jobs he had held

and the moves he made. Most of the moves were at random; the jobs came

with luck. For some reason, though, when he got to this alleyway – states

away from where he had begun – he knew he was done traveling for a

while. He didn’t think about it. He just knew that this was as good as life

was going to get, perhaps for a few more months, maybe for years ahead.

He didn’t dwell on that either. It was much easier, he had discovered, if he

didn’t dwell on the past or look too far ahead.

He had stumbled upon the job at the city library quite by chance. He

went there often to catch up on the news, read an occasional magazine

and to read novels and whatever captured his attention at the time. He

would have liked to check materials out, but he had to provide proof of

address in order to get a card. How could he do that when his current

location didn’t have an address? Mail didn’t arrive at his alleyway home. At

this stage money was too tight to afford a post office box.

But one day as he passed the front counter his attention was drawn

to a bright yellow and pink sign with bold black type. They were looking

for individuals to work during the week with people who were studying


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toward their GEDs. The job paid $12 an hour. Reading further down the

page he memorized the literacy coordinator’s name and headed for the

men’s room. It wouldn’t do to ask for a job looking like a bum – even if that’s

what he amounted to these days.

In the restroom he washed his face and hands just as he did every timehe visited the library. This time he made sure his hair was combed and

peered at his teeth in the mirror. He wished he’d worn a better shirt, but hisno iron khaki trousers were in good shape. Tucking in his shirt, he adjustedthe brown leather belt, cleared his throat and went looking for Sylvia

Kitchner.

The middle-aged woman who greeted Finnely had no clue she was

shaking the hand of a homeless man. He was neat, clean and his hair was

cut and his beard trimmed. He spoke well, answered her questions with

ease, and there was a certain calmness about him that she knew would

transfer to many of the learners.

And that began Finnely’s ventures to the city library three days a week.

Sometimes he only got in three hours; sometimes he worked five hours. Itvaried and he didn’t mind. His checks were small, but Finnely received them

at his new mailbox every other Friday with a sense of relief that didn’t hold

a price tag.

The post office box got him an address, and the very envelope the city

sent out containing his check was his ticket to his library card. Now quite

routinely he took home just enough books for him to read in a night or two,

and more for the long weekend, as he thought of the Thursday throughTuesday, before he returned to work again. The money paid for his weekly

shower, the coffee he perked on his little camp stove each morning and

another propane cylinder when it ran dry. It paid for simple foods, extra

clothing from one of the many thrift stores around the area he frequented,

the weekly session at the Laundromat, and it paid for the doublewide

refrigerator box when it came available.

Finnely had spent weeks waiting his turn at getting one of the refrigerator

boxes from an appliance store two streets over from the library. Everyone

wanted them. Preschools used them for obstacle courses; parents wanted them

for birthday party games; others wanted to create closets inside the garage for

extra storage space, and the list went on.


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Finnely knew he was being cheated of every dime adding up to the $15 he

paid for the box, but they were in high demand. He’d quietly counted out his $1

bills and little stacks of change when he made his purchase. He had thought

about the process often of getting it home. He followed the best of the plans

and carefully folded his box, tied a length of rope around it and carried it the

11 blocks to his new alleyway balanced on his back and head with the rope

around his midsection to steady the piece.

Finnely was spotted – just as he knew he would be – less than three

blocks from the street he always turned on. Jake Harrison offered right

away to lend a hand. Finnely knew it would cost him the price of a quart ofbeer, but his arms were burning from holding them up to balance the load,

so he easily agreed.

That afternoon, Finnely set about gathering old boxes he could break

down for the foundation and was even rewarded by finding seven wooden

pallets outside a store front that had been vacant for a spell. To get these,

he borrowed Will Simm’s shopping cart and was able to tie three on for thefirst trip, and then four on for the next. Four wooden pallets were really too

many. They made the cart harder to steer, and the weight threatened to

topple it, but he managed, rewarding Smilin’ Will, as he was known on the

streets, with another $2 of his money.

Everyone gathered round as Finnely assembled his foundation. First he

arranged the wood pallets to provide support and get him off the ground.

Then he stacked folded cardboard on top of the wood in order to provideinsulation. And finally he laid down his beautiful new home – unfolded

and pushed back into shape – and adjusted it up against the side of the

brick building. Then he stepped back for a look.

“What you gonna do when it rains?” Lonely Larry asked.

As Finnely stood back to admire his work, he recognized the nods of

wonder from the 12 or 13 people who had gathered around. This was

big doings in an area where people claimed they wanted to be left alone,

yet scurried to anything that was going on within the few blocks of their

alleyways.

“I need more wood and good plastic,” Finnely replied. He’d been thinking

about it since he bought the box some hours before.


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“Oh that will surely do it,” said Smilin’ Will from the opposite side of the

alley where he sat next to the Dumpster Arkansas Agnes had claimed for a

home months earlier. Laid on its side as it was, it wasn’t too bad. At least it

kept the weather out even if it was a hard place to sleep and noisy when it

rained.

Settling down that night inside his carefully organized shelter, Finnely

knew a sense of contentment he hadn’t felt in years. His cardboard walls

blocked out the cold breeze that blew down the alley during most months

except summer when it would have been welcomed. An extra blanket

served as the door for the night and gave Finnely a sense of privacy. Tocelebrate, he arranged his LED light for reading and broke open a new

book. It was nothing special, just something to read. He sighed loudly as he

arranged his pillow just so, lay back and opened his murder mystery.

In the weeks to come Finnely found an assortment of plywood that he

rigged up to form a pitched roof. It would serve to keep the rain from soaking

through and the snow from flattening the place. He also dipped into his

carefully concealed savings and bought a roll of high quality landscape-grade plastic. It was guaranteed for five years, and Finnely kept the receipt.

Once he’d wrapped the box in plastic and fashioned a door with it, he felt

pretty good about his digs.

And life went on until the afternoon he returned from the library, a new

Do-It-Yourself book under his arm, and discovered the invader. The book

went ignored for a few days as Finnely bought string from a butcher shop

and medical supplies from a pharmacy. It was as Agnes was replacing

some of the large pads he’d purchased for his arm that he remembered its

existence.

“I’m going to make a chair,” he said suddenly, eyeing the plastic Coke

bottle he’d been sipping from. A Coke was a treat and somehow it managed

to take his mind off what Agnes was doing to his swollen, stiff and aching

arm. Despite the anti-bacterial salve he purchased for her to spread on

the long, angry-looking wound and its 27 brown stitches, the pads always

stuck, and it hurt like hell when she pulled them free.

“What are you gonna make a chair from?” Agnes asked as she spread

salve on the injury, her tongue in its usual spot in the corner of her mouth,

creating a red spot at the corner of her lips.


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“Did you find some more plywood?” Smilin’ Will asked taking his eyes

away from Agnes’ ministrations for a moment to observe Finnely.

“Nope. This bottle,” Finnely said holding up it. “Nobody can make a chair out of a damned ole bottle,” Lonely Larry said

from his spot where the sunshine still found its way into their alley. “You

bein’ funny or somethin’?”

“Oh, I can’t make it out of just this bottle,” Finnely said. Looking from

familiar face to face he realized he was once again enjoying the stir he was

creating with his little group of friends. “I need a lot of them.”

“That’s daft. You can’t make nothin’ from bottles and I don’t care how

many you get of them,” Lonely Larry said leaning forward with interest.

“You can’t nail ‘em together or nothing’.”

“I don’t need nails,” Finnely answered, enjoying Larry’s disbelief.

“Can’t do it,” Lonely Larry practically sputtered as he shook a finger in

Finnely’s direction. “It won’t hold up.”

“Now, if Tom Finnely says he can build hisself a chair from Coke bottles,then he can do it,” Will intervened before Larry could finish what he wanted

to say. “This man’s a wonder. He can build anything out of nothin’,” he said

shaking his own finger around.

With that kind of recommendation, Finnely didn’t feel that he needed

to respond to Larry’s skepticism. In fact, he thought that if he read again

through the chapter on bottles in the DIY book he’d borrowed from thelibrary that he could build any number of the items they wrote about.

The real problem was going to be how to gather up the empties in an

area where everyone scavenged for bottles for the return money they could

collect. And how he was going to keep his collection safe until he was

ready to glue them together? People would cart them off to the recyclers as

soon as his back was turned. Agnes kept an eye on the place while he was

gone and generally did a good job, especially since he was assaulted, buthe wasn’t too sure that Will and Larry could resist, and he knew damned

well that David couldn’t be trusted. Hell, David was a first class drunk and

couldn’t be trusted even when Finnely was around to watch his cache of

bottles himself.


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Finnely’s hunt for plastic bottles started out with a poor showing. He

found crumpled ones, burned ones, ones with holes or none at all.

And then one day as he was returning from his time in the library he

happened down an alley that he rarely traversed. Right as he made the

corner and skirted a pile of blue milk crates, his attention was directed to

a row of three large Dumpsters. He was so excited he almost ran to them.

Instead he made himself approach them at a normal pace, take time to put

down his backpack in a spot where the bottom wouldn’t get dirty and then

remove his black plastic garbage bag from his jacket pocket and shake it

out. He was ready for the largesse he anticipated.Glancing around to see if anyone was watching, he quietly lifted the lid

and looked inside. Right there on top, as if it was arranged for him to find,

was a perfect plastic Coke bottle. Moving aside some badly wilted lettuce

leaves, he spotted another, then a green Sprite bottle. The more refuse he

moved aside the more bottles he found.

He was just adding another Coke bottle to his bag when he heard a

screen door bang nearby. Looking up he saw a balding man with a large

potbelly coming his way with a box of vegetable scraps.

“What you doing here?” the man asked in a not unfriendly voice.

“I’m working on a project, and I need plastic bottles,” Finnely answered

as he stepped away from the Dumpster.

The stranger looked Finnely up and down. “What kind of a project can

you do with bottles?” “I’m building a chair first,” Finnely answered with a slight smile.

“No kidding? You can do that with a bunch of old bottles?” the stranger

asked. “Here let me set this down. Do you mind throwing it in after you’re

done sorting through there? I think I’ve got just the thing for you.”

With that the man turned and walked back into his kitchen and returned

with a big clear bag of assorted plastic bottles. “Our dishwasher saves these.

Well actually, we save them for the dishwasher, but we haven’t seen him in five

days,” the man said as he handed Finnely the bag.

Foolishly Finnely accepted the bag feeling like a kid at Christmas.

“Thanks. This is great of you,” he said looking down at the treasure and then

back up at the man.


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“You wouldn’t have a son or someone who might want a job for a bit?”

the man asked.

Before Finnely could answer, a big hand was thrust his way. “Name’s Lex

Osgoode.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Finnely countered with his own hand going out to

greet the new fellow. “I’m Tom. Tom Finnely. I don’t have a son needin’ a job,

but I could help you out.”

Lex raised his eyebrows a little, but then seemed pleased with Finnely’s

offer. “It’s only $5 an hour – under the table like, and a meal. If there’s any left

of the special, we like to use it up, but there are always burgers and fries andwe make a hell-of-a barbecued pork sandwich. Our own sauce and piled

high with sliced and pulled pork,” he emphasized.

Finnely’s mouth watered as Lex Osgoode rattled off some of the foods

on the menu. It had been ages since he had eaten a good hamburger and

fries. In fact, he was mentally calculating if the price of a burger would set

him back too far.

“When can you start?” Lex asked as he wiped his hands on his apronthat was probably white a few hours earlier.

“How about now?” Finnely fired back. This was his lucky day.

Lex gave him another curious glance, scratched his forehead with a

bandaged finger and led the way into the back kitchen. “I’ll tell you that I’m

glad you can start. I need to get back in the kitchen. I’m not a dishwasher

and that’s just what I’ve been doing.”

It was midnight by the time Finnely made it home with his backpack

on one shoulder and his large sack of bottles over the other. His injured

arm pained him enormously. He’d washed dishes until his hands turned

to prunes, but he had $30 more in his pocket that he wouldn’t have had

otherwise. And a double burger with Swiss cheese and a mound of the best

homemade fries he had ever eaten filling his stomach. He also had a source

for bottles and maybe leftovers for his gang, as he thought of the people

who lived immediately around him. He hurt like hell, and he was tired in a

way he hadn’t felt in a long time, but he also felt good.

Tucking his stash of bottles between the thin roof and the top of the box,

Finnely shined his LED flashlight on his silent security system, nodded to himself

when he realized it was intact, and then went in and prepared for sleep.


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Finnely awoke with a start as a loud bang sounded right next to his

head. Wide awake, he looked around the gloom that signaled morning

inside his home. What the hell? he thought as he crawled out of bed and

brushed aside the plastic door.

“Oh, Will, I told you not to mess with that door!” he heard from Agnes,

then saw her as she sank to the ground and picked up the head end of

Will’s crumpled form. “Oh! This is bad. So bad,” she sobbed. To create their

“house,” the pair had pulled a large Dumpster onto its front side. When the

lids were down it made for a snug, weather-tight dwelling. During the day,

Agnes put an old chair under the one door to prop it open, while the otherside remained closed much of the time. It was this second door that Will, for

unknown reasons, had decided to hoist, and it cracked him on the head.

“What happened?” Finnely asked as he hurried over to her side of the

alley. The evidence was right before him; he had heard the crash and now

there was blood running from some gash or worse on Will’s head. The dirty

felt hat he usually wore was crushed under Agnes’ rump where she sat

holding the small man. “I think he’s killed hisself,” Agnes cried, her face contorted. She and Will

had known each other a long time. They weren’t lovers, more like cousins

or some kin that usually got along.

Finnely dropped to his knees and taking Will’s limp arm, pushed up his

filthy coat sleeve to check for a pulse at his wrist. “He’s alive, Agnes. Now let

me look at him.”

“If he’s not dead now he will be soon. I told him not to lift this side of the

house,” she cried out, her voice high and squeaky with tears and fear. “But

he just had to lift it, and it hit him right on the head!”

“Agnes, now calm down and let me look at him. Get that box of heavy

bandages in my place,” Finnely ordered. Agnes just sat there her face

upturned to him. “Now do it Agnes. We’ve got to help Will.”

This time Agnes did as she was told. Finnely took her place on the dirty

alley floor and gingerly began moving bits and clumps of blood-soaked hair

around looking for the wound. Finnely knew he needed protective gloves on

his hands. AIDS, HIV, Hepatitis C flashed through his mind as he continued his

search. Moving aside another wet clump of hair he found it and immediately

wished he hadn’t. It wasn’t just a deep cut; it was a break or rather a crack in


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his skull, and Finnely knew that once he had his flashlight to examine it, he

wouldn’t like its looks any better.

“It’s bad isn’t it?” Agnes said as she handed him a square white pad.

“It’s bad,” he answered briefly as he laid the pad over the wound and

pressed slightly.

“Get yourself ready Agnes. We’ve got to get him to emergency.”

“We’re going to the hospital!” Agnes said, but she was already pushing

off her night slippers and pulling on her hiking boots. “How will we get him

there?”

“I’ll get the shopping cart,” offered Lonely Larry who had arrived withsome of the others. It was after all the closest thing to transportation that

any of them had.

“No, run over to Jensen’s Hardware and ask them to call a cab,” Finnely

redirected.

“A cab? We got no money for a cab,” Larry scoffed in his normal negative

fashion.

“I do.” Finnely didn’t meet their eyes as he busied himself with Will’s

wound and changed the already soaked pad. He rummaged for another

one and put it in place. “Better go Larry. They’ll make him wait as it is. He’s

got no insurance, and you know what it will be like there.”

The look on Larry’s face, when Finnely looked up, told him he didn’t like

any of it, but he left on his errand. People argued with Finnely, but in the end

they always took his advice and did what he said was right. Twenty minutes, which seemed more like hours, passed before the

yellow city cab stopped at the cross street between the alleyways. “Don’t

you go getting’ the back of my cab all bloody!” the cab driver warned, not

bothering to get out and help as Larry, Agnes and Finnely maneuvered Will

around the open door.

“Agnes get in on the other side and then you can pull him toward you,”

Finnely advised. “Larry, you get in behind him. When you get to the hospital

you run in and then they’ll send someone out to get him. You hear me?”

Larry didn’t speak, just got in after they moved Will onto the back seat.

Finnely was glad Will was such a small man, and the seat was covered in

plastic which made sliding him a lot easier.


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“How much to the hospital?” Finnely asked, then peeled off a $10 and

three ones and handed it to the driver. “He’s got a terrible head wound so

watch the pot holes and go slow,” Finnely said looking the cabbie directly in

the eyes as he handed him the money. “I know the fare’s more like $8 than

$12, but the extra is to make sure you don’t make it harder on him along the

way.”

The rest of his night’s wages he handed to Larry. “There’s about $20 there.

You’ll need to eat while your there but no drinkin’,” he added as he closed the

door and watched the cab drive away.

The next three days were filled with worry and additional work forFinnely. Not just with his new job, which couldn’t have come at a better

time, but with things that needed to be done at home. Agnes was a mess

with worry and grief over Will’s unstable condition.

They had shaved part of Will’s head and sewn him up and that really

concerned Finnely. He alone knew the extent of the man’s injuries and sewing

it up hardly took the place of the kind of surgery that was called for. He knew

better than to argue. At least the hospital was keeping him in a room even if

it was with three other men. They could have released him early.

Agnes continued to go to the hospital daily and Larry went along to keep

an eye on her. Finnely shelled out the cash for public transportation and

meals. He noted the second day that both appeared a little cleaner. Agnes

changed into clothes he’d never seen before and a better coat that actually

fit her. Larry combed his otherwise wild head of hair and talked about ahaircut. They both had washed their faces, probably at the hospital as they

waited.

“How’s that chair coming along,” Lex asked late one afternoon just as

Finnely was arranging a stack of big pots to scrub.

“I decided against a chair,” Finnely said.

“Ya. I couldn’t see anyone making something out of those empties,” Lex

said as he ran salami through a meat slicer in the next room.

“No, I’m still using them, but I’m building a house first,” Finnely explained

as he aimed the overhead spray jet at the inside of a heavy pot. The remains

of the morning’s batch of barbecue sauce reminded him too much of Will’s

accident, and he was anxious to dilute it with soap and water.


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“You don’t say. A house?” Lex was so puzzled he stopped what he wasdoing for a moment, ignoring the thin slices of hard Italian salami, thenlooked at Finnely. “What for?”

“Friends of mine need it,” Finnely said before he thought it through. “I mean it’s kind of a storage place,” he quickly added feeling dumb. “Youknow for the lawnmower and such.” “You don’t say,” Lex repeated, a puzzled look spreading over his beefyfeatures. “I’d like to see that sometime.” “I have a couple to make, but I could make one for out back,” Finnely offered.“It would be just the thing to get some of that stuff under cover.”

“It would at that,” Lex said and went back to slicing meat. The idea of building a shelter for Agnes and Will so they could give up the

Dumpster had come to Finnely the same day they’d sent the injured man

off to the hospital. The plans were right there in his library book. He figured

he could make two separate houses and then attach them together for

support. And to keep his mind off Will he headed to the hardware store

where he bought glue made for plastics, a saw and extra blades, PVC pipe

and elbows and some other odds and ends that would keep the structure

sturdy.

By the time he was ready to leave for work, he had measured and

marked off a pattern on the alleyway just behind his own place. Everything

was set to start the next day.

Finnely was anxious to get started the next morning. He took long

enough to put his coffee on to perk on his little camp stove, got out his

DIY book, opened it to the marked page and set it out for easy reference.

After scanning the directions once again, he dragged out one of the bags

of bottles under his roof. Without Agnes or Larry about, David had taken

over as the neighborhood watchman and everything had gone surprising

well – no thefts or trespassers. And more importantly, David was behaving

himself.

After setting up a makeshift workbench, Finnely positioned his firstbottle so he could saw the top off at the shoulders. Making a few tentativeswipes with the saw, he quickly realized this was more difficult than the

photos indicated. It was difficult to hold the bottle once he started cutting,and it was even more difficult not to flatten it and mess up his cut as he put

pressure on the saw.


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Disgusted with his first attempt that was a little lopsided, Finnely tossedit aside and reached for another bottle. This would take practice, but he

had a lot of time and pieces to practice on.

By the time he had cut through his first dozen bottles, he rememberedhis coffee and reached it just before it boiled dry. This morning’s brew was sothick and bitter it required two extra helpings of powdered coffee creamerand a little sugar to make it palatable. Sipping it, he grimaced and knew heshould throw it out and start over, but it was something hot and he didn’t

want to waste the time.

Inside his tent, he rummaged up two ALEVE from a small bottle in

his backpack and gulped them down with a swig of hot coffee. His arm

was killing him. Washing dishes was hard on it and the additional use in

sawing, even if it was just 20 minutes worth or so, made it ache even worse.

It was nothing compared to how poor Will was feeling, he knew.

Nearly a week passed before a taxi similar to the one that took Will to the

hospital stopped at the cross streets and left Will, Agnes and Larry. Finnely

straightened up from his task of forming a tube of plastic that he had cutto size and secured, and then filled with plastic bottles. He set down the

unit, as he thought of it, and walked toward the trio, offering to give Larry

a hand with a pink plastic tub they provided everyone in the hospital. That

left Larry with a white bag of medication, socks and wash clothes. Glancing

in the bag, Finnely saw a sundry supply of bandages, gauze, mini tubes of

salve, tape and some other stuff.

“Thanks for everything, Good Tom,” Will said, releasing Agnes andstretching out his hand to shake Finnely’s. “I’d like to say I’d do it for you, butI never got the cost of a cab, you know.” “Don’t mention it, Will. I’m just glad I could help,” Finnely said feeling a littlebit embarrassed but also pleased. “I got us all a sandwich for lunch.” “From Joe’s place?” Agnes asked, her eyes excited at the thought and a

big smile lighting up her face.

“That boy can cook, let me tell you that,” Larry said as he set the bagdown near Will’s area. “Here Will, you sit right here,” he added pulling up akitchen chair someone had snagged from somewhere. “No wait, there’s theoffice chair,” he amended and rushed for a jumble of things under a stained

tarp. Pulling out an old waiting room style chair, its seat ripped open, Larry

carried it over and set it in the sun for Will.


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Will took it with a nod, while Finnely produced the food. Fortunately the

weather hadn’t been too warm, so it was still fine from the previous night

when he had carried it home from the restaurant.

Pulling up a wobbly folding camp table that had appeared a few weeks

earlier, Finnely set out the slices of French and rye, and the wheat rolls. They

were past their time to serve to customers Lex had said as he bagged them

up. Barbecued beef ribs, the special of the day two days earlier, were placed

in a bag next to a Styrofoam container of potato salad and another with

stuffed baked potatoes.

“I thought you said a sandwich. This is a feast,” Larry said as he moved incloser to the table. “I got four dollars left from that that you give me. Do you

want some beer?” Larry knew perfectly well that Finnely never touched the

stuff, but it was a time honored way of asking if he could spend someone

else’s money.

“Might as well,” Finnely said as he opened an old sour cream container

nearly filled with pulled pork in sweet, yet tangy sauce.

“Oh heavens, I’m glad I lived,” Will said as he accepted the first plate Agnes made up. “This do be livin’ high on the hog,” he added as he took a

large bite from his sandwich.

“Where did you say this come from?” Larry asked, and then slapped a

hand over his mouth. It was an unwritten rule that people didn’t ask about

each other’s past or where they had gotten something.

“Lonely Larry I ought to put your plate back for that,” Agnes said as she

stopped dead in her tracks over Larry’s faux pas.

“It’s alright,” Finnely intervened. “It’s all from the place I work.”

Finnely looked from face to face, including One Legged David who had

just arrived. Surprise was a mild way of describing their expressions. “You

got a job?” Will asked as he wiped the barbecue sauce from his mouth with

the back of his hand.

Finnely noted that he still wore his hospital ID band and figured he’d

probably wear it for the next five years or so. “Yep. Got me a job. Well, two

jobs in fact,” he explained, turning back to the table to get David squared

away with the chow.

Everyone remained quiet, while the food was dished up and served. Larry,

still in disgrace, had gone after two quarts of beer over on the next street.


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Finnely could just feel the questions about to bust out of the people around

him. It was after they all had a spot to sit and taken a bite or two, that Will

ventured to ask the first question, “You found work? What kind?”

Finnely kept his eyes on his plate, while he tried to decide how much he

wanted these people to know, but he knew they were curious about the

money he had had to spend on the bus, the cab fares, lunches for Agnes

and Larry, and supplies for the bottle house.

“I’ve been working at the library for a spell now,” he finally began,

deciding that in a way they had a right to know something about him.

“You work at the libary?” Agnes said, her eyes big and her platemomentarily forgotten. “That’s a good job.”

“I don’t actually work for the library. I just teach people who are trying to

get their GEDs. You know that’s kind of like a high school diploma,” Finnely

answered.

“Could you teach me?” Agnes asked. “I ain’t never been to high school,

quit in the seventh-grade, I did.”

“Let him finish,” David said. He’d resumed eating. He loved potatoes of

any kind and it was a real treat having two different kinds in one meal and

entertainment as well. He’d been presented with the better part of one quart

of beer to drink, but it was forgotten in favor of potatoes and new news.

“I’d been working there for quite a few months, when I discovered a new

place to try for bottles,” Finnely said as he crunched into a pickle wedge Lex

insisted that he take. The garlic was potent and the touch of hot pepperflakes was perfect, he thought absently.

The group spent the next 20 minutes or so discussing the wonders of

Finnely having two jobs. In their estimation he was just about rich. Most

of them weren’t against work, they weren’t lazy, but to a person they had

given up on finding anything but the occasional errand to run. They also

didn’t have educations and were unskilled. David was a little different. He

had fought in Vietnam where he’d lost a leg, but he was also a mental mess.

He got benefits, which meant a little mone, when he could remember to

pick it up.

“Wish I could wash dishes,” Larry said, a note of longing in his voice. “I

could sweep floors good, clean tables, wash toilets. Anything.”


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Finnely knew that Larry wasn’t asking him to get him a job, but hearing

the wistfulness in his voice made him decide to ask Lex and the other cook,

Jerry, if there was anything around.

“I had that good job with the vet,” Agnes offered. “I loved that job. It was

that damned no good Buster that got me fired from it. They couldn’t prove

a damned thing against me neither, but I knowed that Buster was the one

who kept stealing dope from the medicine cabinet. I didn’t catch him or I

would have taught him a few things, but every time he’d help me clean the

cages at night, something would happen I guess. Damned shame. Lost my

job and kicked that man right out of my place all in the same night.” “So what ‘cha building back there?” Will finally asked when the talk and

the eating slowed.

“It’s a house,” Finnely offered. After looking from one surprised face to

the next, he launched into his plan for building two of them so that Will

and Agnes didn’t have to share the Dumpster anymore. “Done right,

they’re supposed to keep the rain, snow and wind out. I’m watching for

more palettes for the floors,” he added setting his paper plate down on the

ground.

Looking from David to Larry he could read their expressions. “You guys

want one too?”

“Our own houses?” Larry asked stunned by the idea. His place now

consisted of a jumble of plywood, boards and cardboard against the

building. David’s wasn’t much better, just a different shape.

“Sure, why not?” Finnely said, realizing he meant it.

“I could help if you showed me what to do,” David offered quickly. “It

would make the days pass, and I wouldn’t need as much beer.”

By the first snow, four square plastic bottle cabins dotted the alleyway.

David decided to move his over to be closer with the others discovering he

liked being around a group of people who did things rather than the groupwho spent most of their time looking for money to spend on drink and then

drinking until it was gone or they fell asleep. It was an endless cycle.

Larry spent his first night in his home with just three of the four palettes he

required. There was enough for the side with his bed, and he fixed his layers


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of cardboard up so that he could just slide it into place as soon as he spied

another pallet. That night he slept soundly, warm inside as he stretched

out full length with his ragged bedding pulled tightly around him. Will and

Agnes were delighted with their own side-by-side homes. And Finnely was

happy that he’d been able to make a difference in someone else’s life. It took

away a little of the bitterness that still bothered him about his own wife

and kids.

Outside the first snow of winter fell quietly, bothering no one in the

dead-end alley they knew as home.


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Chapter1How to survive homelessness in style

Homelessness might be described as an extended camping trip

that doesn’t end. If you are suddenly thrust into being homelessthe experience is terrifying. For those who are mentally ill, it is anadventure into the solitude of the abyss. But for those who choose topursue this approach to living it seems to be alluring. Psychologistssay, “When you give up your possessions you gain a sense of freedomand reduce your stress levels.” Tibetian monks say this is the only wayto find inner peace.

If we set aside the worries and fears that individuals face when theyface homelessness, it does seem kind of exciting. ink of what it’slike when you’re past the hustle and bustle of getting everything readyto go and you’ve finally arrived at that campsite and start setting up. You’re clean, you’re still refreshed from having spent most of the year


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sleeping in a good bed with clean sheets, and the bugs haven’t startedbiting you yet. In comparing a camping trip to becoming homeless,there are some similarities, and just as people write advice books onhow to camp, there is a growing amount of information out there on what to do when you’re faced with becoming homeless.

How to be homeless by the homeless

It seems that no one has better advice on being homeless than

someone who has actually experienced it. at’s true about nearlyeverything in life, but this is an area people either do not want to talkabout or you can’t really believe them. e following information istaken from Te Joys (?) of Being Homeless, by Jerry Leonard. He washomeless for most of 1992.

Decide the advantages and disadvantages of being homeless in acity (urban) or in the wilderness (country). ere are good and bad

points on each side.• The good thing about living in the country is that there are fewer

people to interfere with you. You’re free, man!

• It also means that you have to survive on what you have because there

are fewer people to panhandle or listen to your music.

• Resources are further apart for getting a few days worth of groceries

whether you’re buying them or getting them from a food pantry.• In the city there are more opportunities, but there are more cops, other

homeless people who want to mess with you and then there are all those

people who think beating up a homeless guy proves something to the world.

• In a city, you’re also competing against everyone for the same services,

the same street corner for panhandling, the same Dumpsters and

sometimes even for a spot in an alleyway to sleep. Regardless of where

you decide to live, there’s the question of shelter. Where are you going

to sleep at night or hangout when it’s raining or snowing?

• When you’re in the country there are barns, old sheds, abandoned cars,

under the stars in a tent or a shelter you’ve created from boughs (pine

and such are great), the occasional cave or rock overhang.


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• In the city there are homeless shelters, dozens of alleyways where

a good-sized cardboard box or shanty built of odds and ends will

do. There are abandoned homes and buildings that are often quite

accessible. Make sure to inspect them during the daylight so you can

get your bearings and also to find out who else is living there or uses

the place for other activities. Remember to make sure that any light

you use at night isn’t seen from the outside and if you make a fire that

there’s ventilation for the smoke.

• Cities have sizable sewers and storm drains that can be accessed. These

aren’t the most pleasant places to be, but they do serve a purpose. It’salso recommended that if you use these areas remember that rats just

love them and it’s not that uncommon to find one with rabies. Also

remember that any cuts or wounds can become infected quite quickly

in these nasty environments.

• Junkyards and industrial parks have their attractions. If you can slip

through, over or under the fence without alerting an employee or a

dog you’re half way there. Remember, there are few meaner thingsthan a junkyard dog. They’re nasty, stay away from them. If there isn’t

a watchman or a dog there’s easy living here in first one old clunker

after another. As a word of advice, this isn’t the place to build a fire

unless you come to know the area and the people’s habits real well. The

telltale smoke will give away your hideout.

• Although it’s almost a classic to see some guy stretched out on a park

bench with a newspaper or two over him, this really isn’t that great. For

one thing, it’s all too easy for the cops to spot you and run you in for

vagrancy. While you might not mind a warm place to spend a night

and get some food, jails can be pretty rough places. You might ask

around and learn what you can about the ones in your city and see if

these are right for you and worth the risk.

• Alleys are used quite a bit, but here again consider the alleyway. If it’s

behind businesses then people are going to be coming and going to

and from work, going in and out to dump trash and garbage. These

might be a good place to visit at the right time during the day or just

after closing in order to do a little Dumpster diving – you never know

what you’ll find – clothing, food, and a lot of stuff. Alleyways behind


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bars aren’t good. First of all, the first guy who decides the bathroom is

too crowded or just got thrown out might decide to pee all over you

and your stuff—whether he realizes you’re there or not. Cops also tend

to check out these areas and even if you haven’t been drinking or using

you might find yourself in the very jail you’ve been carefully avoiding.

• Believe it or not, getting fresh drinking water in the countryside can

be a problem. If you happen upon a public camping area, it usually

has fresh water around, not to mention bathrooms and sometimes

showers. Beware, however of drinking from the creek, a pool, pond or

river. They might look clear enough, but you never know what’s lurkinginside. Even the prettiest little stream can have a dead squirrel in it up

stream and that means a lot of discomfort and diarrhea for days. In the

city there are more places where you can get a drink of water and refill

your jug.

• Getting money is always a challenge. In the country there are fewer

opportunities unless you can clean up and find yourself a few odd jobshere and there. In both the country and the city there are opportunities

of collecting recyclable cans and bottles and turning them in for the

money. Fast food places, grocery stores and mall parking lots are

usually the best pickings. Looking for loose change in all of the same

places will also do the trick. Remember not to scoff at pennies like other

people do, they do add up.

Advice on homelessness

I just couldn’t resist sharing some tips on homelessness that I’m sure Iwould never recommend that anyone use. I’m a reserve peace officer so someof these ideas really go against the grain. However, they are interesting to readand might cause you a few moments of thought. ey’re from “Homeless Tipsand Tricks: Making it on the Tough Streets with Ease” a blog on the Internet.

• Use a hilarious T-shirt that makes people pause a moment to listen to

your music. If you get a smile or even a laugh, it means that person will

throw in a little extra cash. They might even remember you the next

time through and will add to their contribution.


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• One man recommends taking along a bottle of water whenever you’re

helping yourself to beverages in a grocery store or someone’s home

(and they’re not). Just top off the beverage container with water when

you’ve had some. Most people are none the wiser or perhaps just a little

puzzled. As for grocery stores, the clerks are accustomed to throwing

out quantities of beverages with broken seals. They can’t sell them that

way. Help yourself.

• Keep the cup from the last fast food chain you visited or find one in

good shape in the trash and then refill it whenever you’re at that burger

joint or taco place. Remember to make sure your cup matches the place or you’re busted.

• Riding the rails is a money-saving way to cross the distances. It takes

a little time to learn how to hop a moving train and escape watchful

eyes of the railroad employees (but they’re getting fewer as the industry

keeps cutting back on personnel). And watch out for other people who

are doing exactly what you’re doing. Some of them are right fine folks,

others are mean and some are down- right crazy and most I found

have multiple arrest records ranging from loitering to murder.

Survival guide to being homeless

I’ve decided that some of these tips are worth repeating because

they’re presented in different ways. Besides, if you read like I do youdon’t start out at the beginning and read something to its conclusion;you skip around.

e following, “Survival Guide to Homelessness: No Matter Where You Go, ere You Are,” was written in 2004 as an Internetblog. e author said that he/she spent five years as a homeless person.“Or as I liked to call it with a distributed household,” according tothis unnamed individual. “I had storage, shelter, mailbox, telephone,shower, bathroom facilities, cooking equipment and transportation,even access to television, radio, computer equipment, and ac power. Ihad the essence of a home. It was simply more geographically scatteredthan is traditional in our culture.”


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“I’m not the first to do what I did, to live homeless well. I’m notthe first to find advantage in homelessness. It is a well-kept secret thathomelessness can be freedom and comfort can attend it. e secretis well kept because revealing that you are homeless in this society isdangerous. ere is stigma. ere are even laws prohibiting it. Imaginethat. ere are laws against being homeless. Let me say that one moretime. ere are laws against being homeless,” according to the Guide.

Homeless person’s bill of rights: “You have a right to live. You havea right to be. You have these rights regardless of money, health, social

status, or class. You have these rights, man, woman or child. eserights can never be taken away from you, they can only be infringed. When someone violates your rights, remember, it is not your fault. You were wronged.”

• How to control desperation: “There is nothing so bad that it will not

pass,” according to the author. He recommends doing something good

for yourself, like getting a good meal, eat it in a warm and friendlyenvironment and think good thoughts in the process. “There is nothing

so painful as desperation. Nothing so counterproductive.”

• How to get comfortable lying: For some people this just comes naturally.

You’ve probably heard the expression about being a born liar well it’s

true. Some people just start out not being able to tell the truth, a few

people don’t know the difference and some people have a great deal of

difficulty not telling the truth. “I’ve read that the average American lies

25 times a day. I don’t know how you would test that, certainly not by

a survey, but I can believe it. Those lies, mostly. Are little white lies. Slight

embellishments on the truth.” Despite this information, as a society we

believe that being truthful and believable to be paramount. We point

fingers at people who get caught lying, we even condemn people for

it – especially politicians and people in some sort of power over the rest

of us. There are times when a person is homeless that it is essential that

they lie and be good at it. “People are going to ask you all day where

you live. When you go to the doctor, try to get a mailbox, try to get a

cell phone or a pager, when you are interrogated by the police, when

you want to join a supermarket club, when you want to get a storage


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unit, they’ll ask. They’ll want your home phone number, too. If you don’t

provide these pieces of information, and prove you are a member of the

housed public, they will deny you services,” according to the author.

• Remembering that you’re not a bum: The author explained that he

didn’t set out to be homeless, but through a series of circumstances,

that is how he ended up for a period in his life. Also consider your family

and friends. How long can you honestly expect them to allow you to live

with them, perhaps even support you? (The Chattanooga Community

kitchen offers addresses for the homeless to get library cards and other

services that require an address)

• What are the advantages of being homeless? The author explained

that he was made homeless by circumstances, but remained homeless

as a matter of choice. There are really a lot of freedoms to being

homeless. For instance, many homeless people work, they just don’t

make enough to afford a place to live or would rather spend their

money in other ways. There are also those who plan it so they canwork at a job for two weeks or so and then live on the proceeds for

a few months. The author found that excluding the cost of food, his

average expenses came to $300 a month. That included his storage

facility, mailbox, telephone and entertainment. He said he went to the

movies a lot, but he also had plenty of time to visit museums, libraries,

concerts, went to college, hung-out with friends and a lot more. “The

freedom is awesome,” he said.

e author has a lot more information that can be found athttp://guide2homelessness.blogspot.com/2004/10/advantages-of-homelessness.html.

How to live homeless

It’s a fact. ere are a wide variety of Web sites now available on theInternet on how to be homeless. ere’s a mountain of information,guides, books, testimonials. You name it and it’s there someplace. Itmight be a good idea if you’re one of the ones who thinks they might


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soon be facing life on the streets or camping out in a friend’s backyardto print out a few tips. Even if you don’t want or understand theadvice now, there’s a time when it could come in quite handy.

One of the Web sites is eHow. Contributing writer Will Conleyoffers some pointers.

Assess your needs, not your wants, but your needs. You might want to take along the new TV you bought before you lost your job, then your house, but do you need it? Assessing your needs is askill that you will learn to hone and use with more expertise as time

passes. A common need is food. Ask yourself if you are really hungry? What about your family? Are they hungry too? Remember there’s adifference between being hungry and just eating for recreation or tokill the boredom. e longer you are homeless, the more you willcome to understand what really being hungry feels like.

Here are some tips from Conley on how to get food.

• Learn to identify other homeless people or a police officer that can

tell you where you can get free food if you’re new to the area. Say

something like, “Excuse me. I am starving. Do you know where I can get

some free food around here?”

• Learn the correct body language. To set the person your addressing at

ease and get a straight answer, Conley recommends that you look the

person directly in the eye and keep your hands still next to your side.

Always remain calm and speak clearly. Always remember to thank people, even when he or she doesn’t respond to you.

• If this doesn’t work the first time, go over it in your mind to get it right

and approach the next likely person.

Another need is warmth. If it’s freezing cold or raining or snowinghard you need to get inside. Now if you have a place to stay get inside.

But if you’re away from your shelter – tent, cardboard box, shanty or wherever – you need to get inside.

• Loiter where you can. “Try to stay inconspicuous and do not panhandle

inside a private business,” Conley recommended. That’s a sure way to

draw attention to yourself.


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• Be kind and polite. Don’t talk unless someone talks to you first. Don’t rant

and rave about anything or you will wear out your welcome quickly.

• If you can afford to buy a cup of coffee somewhere inside, by all meansthis might be the time to do it. It will add a little warmth to your belly

while you enjoy the warmth of being inside. Add cream and sugar to

your coffee, but don’t overdo it. Grabbing all the sugar packets or little

creamer containers is a sure way to get yourself noticed and put an end

to your refills. If someone asks you to move on, do it without a fuss. The

Salvation Army provides free coffee in Chattanooga daily and Karaoke

on Sunday evenings.

Another need might to a place to sleep for the night. If you havemore than yourself to consider, finding a shelter that will take familiesor couples might be a little more difficult. Shelter operators arebecoming more sophisticated about the needs of families and provideshelter accordingly, but in some areas shelters are still segregated –

meaning that some only take men and some only take women.“Homeless people are statistically the commonest, most vulnerabletargets for random acts of violence,” Conley said. erefore finding agood shelter is recommended.

• If you’re new to being homeless or new to the area, size-up another

homeless person and ask them for advice on where to find a good

shelter, or ask a police officer. Use the same exact tips offered for bodylanguage that you would use for asking for food. Many homeless

people are protective of where they are staying I found and do not want

others to know unless you find a group willing to share information.

• “Allow yourself to appear a little desperate, but do not overplay it,”

Conley said. That can be a real turnoff to some people. Think about how

you would have reacted if a homeless person approached you before

you became homeless. How did they look, behave, smell, were they polite? Now what can you do to make your request more successful

and avoid all the things that you once found so disconcerting?

• “You need to establish a rapport with whomever you are asking

assistance or directions,” Conley said. That doesn’t mean become

their instant best friend or a pest. Be polite, warm, sincere, and listen


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attentively especially when they give you directions. They might not be

inclined to repeat what they’ve already told you.

• Listen to any advice, especially from other homeless people who are

familiar with the area’s shelters. “Listen carefully to any warnings they

give you about the shelter as far as rules (when you are allowed to

enter, what you are allowed to bring in with you, etc.),” according to

Conley.

• Also remember to ask about shelter hours and don’t wait. If you get

there too late there might not be enough room.

You will quickly learn the differences among the shelters in your areaand develop a preference for one or two of them. Always rememberto follow the rules at whatever shelter you use. It means the differencebetween a bed for the night or finding cover somewhere else.

• Make yourself inconspicuous so you don’t become a target for those

who like to cause trouble for others.

• Most shelters have curfews. Once you’re in for the night, respect thatand don’t expect or ask for special privileges.

• Remember the rules are in place to protect you. They might curtail your

freedom, but that’s the price of getting a bed for the night.

• Some places offers free bus passes to help you get around the city.

• Some places offer clothing, bedding and household items at particular

times. Don’t get pushy or ask for favors in getting something you need.

And remember to assess your needs versus your wants. Do you really

need a lamp when it’s actually a lantern that will work best?

ese are just a few of the recommendations that Conley offerson eHow. Check out the Web site and learn more by going to www.eHow.com.

Once you’re at a shelter, check bulletin boards for information

about additional shelters, soup kitchens, employment opportunitiesand other services that might come in handy. is is also a good timeto ask the staff for this kind of information or size-up some of theother homeless and ask someone you think might be the right kindof person for information. Many homeless day shelters will also open


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during inclement weather when the temperature is below 32 withprecipitation.

Surviving the streets

As I carefully conducted my research during the last few monthsI’ve come to know a lot about being homeless. For some, it beginsas a thrill. Teens seek the freedom away from parents, group homes,caregivers, or well meaning relatives. For some adults too, this isthe initial attraction. For most however living life on the streets and

everything that it entails is nearly too miserable to allow individualsthe luxury of enjoying their freedom.

Surviving the Street: Living Homeless in the Magic City , by Dr. AdaLong through the University of Alabama at Birmingham, takes a goodlook at some of those who live life on the edge.

“‘ere’s been a major change in the attitude of the general

population,’ says Ada Long, Ph.D., director of the UAB HonorsProgram and a volunteer and board member of the local Bread andRoses shelter. ‘People under 40 just assume there have always beenhomeless shelters. Well, the poor have always been with us, butshelters haven’t. ey’re largely a direct result of regressive housingpolicies that persist today,’” according to the Web site. Many of those who are homeless probably would have a much harder time if weren’t

for the programs that provide assistance. According to Susan Key, Ph.D., associate profession with the UAB

School of Business, shelters, soup kitchens and other similar servicesare real businesses and it takes a lot of expertise to manage them. “Butin fact, because their resources are so scarce, they have to be even betterbusiness people than average. ere’s no fluff in their budgets. ey’recontinually writing grants, seeking corporate funds, competing with

other agencies. For many of them, just managing to pay the bills eachmonth is a challenge,” she explained.

e shelters in Birmingham understand that they have to worktogether if they’re going to survive. ey can’t compete against oneanother and they can’t duplicate services.


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Staying warm and well is always a challenge to those living on thestreets. “’e challenge to physicians is that the homeless have suchmultiple needs,’ says Joseph Schumacher, Ph.D., associate professorof medicine. ‘If you’ve got no place to sleep, no food, and maybea cocaine or alcohol problem on top of that, you’re certainly notgoing to be thinking about your six-month dental appointment. Yoursituation just overwhelms your whole life, your judgment.’”

UAB dental students hit the streets every Friday and assist at the Jefferson County Health Department. Eye care is also available from

UAB optometry students on Saturdays at an eye-care clinic.

Finding friends

ese were a few people I came to meet early on in my research onthe homeless around Chattanooga. I have to admit that when I walkedinto the homeless camp, although I had been invited, my senses were

alert to any signs of danger. For instance, when they started showingme those old military knives, I got myself ready for anything thatmight happen. I knew the risk I was taking when I visited this campand took the precaution of going in with a concealed weapon andmade sure I had my reserve deputy identification on my person.Fortunately, all went well. ese people were about as open as anyonecould expect.

I do not suggest that just anyone go into these homeless camps orconduct interviews without absolutely knowing who you are meeting.I interviewed all of these individuals in an open public area firstto determine their demeanor and temperaments during normalconversations. If they appeared schizophrenic, agitated, or emotionallydisturbed, I made the conversation brief and did not pursue further

interaction. In all my contacts with the homeless, I notified someone where I would be, when I would be back, who I was with, and I alwayshad a cell phone with me with a fast dial 911 button.

As a Hamilton County reserve deputy, I always wear or have accessto an off duty concealed weapon 24/7 to meet the required needsof law enforcement and protect myself as well as others should the


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need arise. After all, some of these individuals have numerous arrestrecords, and/or substance abuse issues. One person claimed to havebeen incarcerated for killing someone, and many have such seriousmental illnesses that they have been involuntarily committed forvarious periods of time. I didn’t want to find out at the wrong timethat today was their bad day. Lt. Robert Starnes’ story on page 305 isa good example.

With that said, there are many, many public servants, professionalsand volunteers who enter these camps without the benefit of self

protection or police protection and feel fine doing that. God Blessthem, everyone. Remember, help the homeless appropriately anywayyou can, but….. always protect yourself first.

e following are homeless individuals I interviewed in a HomelessCamp located behind Engle Stadium in Chattanooga, Tennessee. It issurrounded by dense brush just down from another homeless three

-man “treehouse” camp with “not so friendly” men.

From left, meet Thomas Berryman, Holly Christian, Frank Stewart and Brian

Sisney at the camp behind the old baseball stadium near Chattanooga, TN.


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Name: Frank Stewart Age: 37Residence: Lompoc, CA, currentlyliving in Chattanooga Occupation: Welder, steel cutter,black smith, Sears loading, kiln operator

Frank Stewart lives with some friends behind the Engle Stadiumhere in Chattanooga. is is almost like a city unto itself and the

residents there are mighty protective of what they have and of eachother. e first time I entered the camp I became aware of all thetripwire devices they had rigged up as warnings. If someone tried toenter this camp at night they’d probably set up a stir by bumpinginto cowbells or hitting strings of cans. It would be enough noise to wake even the soundest sleepers, I’m sure. ey even had sharpenedsticks in a cluster pointed out of the ground diagonally that couldinjure or severely wound you if you tripped and fell on them. ey areprotecting the route from unwanted entry to the camp.

Frank said that he comes from Lompoc, CA where he spent 18years. He graduated from high school in 1991 there. His first job wasas a welder; then he cut steel and worked in a scarp yard for aboutthree months.

By the time 1994 rolled around, he found himself serving time fora “wet and reckless” charge (driving under the influence) and spentthree months in the Santa Barbara j

how to live homeless in style

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