Just when we thought the Obama administration, like previous administrations, had us solidly in their rear-view mirror. Well, what do you know? They have appointed a "Homeless Czar." That's like the Drug Czar, and the Homeland Security Czar, but without the uzi.
Actually, it's a Czarina. And, no, it's not Martha Stewart. Her name is Barbara Poppe. Barbara is in charge of the newly minted - drum roll - United States Interagency Council on Homelessness.
Actually, the USICH was created last October. Somebody forgot the key to open the door, so that Barbara and her staff ....all ten of them.....had to wait a few months to get inside the office to start the ball rolling on their mission: To end homelessness in America by 2020.
If that sounds a tad familiar, it is. Past presidents have told us of the light at the end of the tunnel, turning the corner in the War on Drugs, and more recently, in 2003, Victory in Iraq, a cool seven and one half years before the actual (maybe) event.
Anyway, we can only hope that this Interagency Council has more luck ending homelessness in America than all of the coalitions, alliances, projects, foundations, associations, commissions, committees and boards before it.
But we have to remember, this new USICH is staffed with the same Inside the Beltway advanced degree totin' spear carriers who have always been elbowing their way up the bureaucratic ladder in Washington.
Working for this and that Association, Guild, Think Tank, Alliance, Agency and so on, issuing grant proposals, studies, profiles, strategic plans, ad infinitum. I tell ya, the word processing software package per capita in that swamp must be staggering.
And the USICH is up against some stiff competition who have also been working tirelessly to end homelessness in America.
The National Alliance to End Homelessness, has been at it for nearly thirty years. The National Coalition for The Homeless...well, we don't really know, they don't answer their phones, but a good guess would be since The National Coalition Against the Homeless went belly up, and all of their employees banded together and thunk up a new way to get money.
However, USICH does have an ace in the hole....their boss of bosses, the President, has his own nuclear submarines.
And they might need that ace. The entire roster of those ten staff members, and the many many board members does not include one...not one....person who has ever been homeless; been nearly homeless; missed a payment on the Beamer....or had to scrabble together enough quarters to buy a lotto ticket.
You show me one person in that group who has the fire in the belly required to make a success of this venture, ending homelessness in America by 2020, and I'll show you somebody who was using the curling iron in the wrong place this morning.
In fact, I hate to say it, but I'm not real hopeful about this new mission to end homelessness by 2020. The next thing we know, they'll be calling for a whole bunch of meetings to take place when they should be out there looking for ways to actually help homeless people.
these dolts will have a meeting to decide which train to take out of the beltway to get to where the homeless people really are. Hint. try the streets and parks and alleys around your house.
Then they'll be calling for a study to figure out why nobody can make it on time to the meetings to decide how to go to see the homeless people. Then they'll want to form a council they can dialogue with...and then, hey a whole coalition of councils.. yadda, yadda yadda.
It's the Inside The Beltway version of "Let Mikey do it!" all over again.
Y'know on second thought, maybe they should replace the new Czarina with Martha Stewart.
Hey, she's done hard time in the slammer, she's learned a few things....and at least we'd get some nice towels out of it. Maybe even some chocolate scones.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
COIN OF THE REALM
There are banks in Homeless Nation, but they hardly know we exist.
Who can blame them? Our nation has no currency, so we can't just walk in, ask if they have a foreign currency exchange desk so we can get some of their currency to buy stuff and expect them not to snicker. What are we going to give them in exchange for the local moolah? A backpack?An old toothbrush? Half a can of Pepsi? They'd probably roll their eyes and say, "This here ain't no flea market, Pal, move on."
So we have had to devise other sustenance strategies. Mankind has been doing that for ages. The time was, way back when there were no banks, we were wee hunter-gathering home sapiens and our sustenance strategy was to procure plants and especially animals from the wild by hunting and foraging, and eventually we got wise to the beasts who could out run us and so we invented specialized tools like clubs, fishing nets, hooks, and bone harpoons. Imagine walking into a bank today with a bone harpoon. You'd get your Fifteen Minutes of Fame....and five years in the slammer.
Anyway, time marched on, and eventually we homo sapiens became barterers. We traded barley for salt; tea for seeds; cattle for wood and so on. Eventually, it was too much to carry around all of that barley, salt, seeds and cattle and wood, we we started to use tokens to represent those things. Coins, first used by the ancient Lydians, and later on, paper, invented by the Chinese. And today, we use paper and coins which represent a whole lot of gold stored somewhere. When you get right down to it, currency is just an abstraction. Unless you don't have any.
Will Rogers, the famous American humorist said, during the Great Depression: "Money was all appropriated for the top in hopes that it would trickle down to the needy." In recent modern day terms, this became known as "Trickle Down Economics," first coined by Ronald Reagan when he was running for the Republican nomination for president. George HW Bush, who was also running for the nomination, said that was just a bunch of "Voodoo Economics."
Voodoo, Schmoodo, we weren't getting any trickle down then, and we still aren't. But we do have these alternate sustenance strategies, and things to use as our coin of the realm...and they will have to do until some of that Voodoo starts trickling down on us.
First, even if you don't smoke, buy some cigarettes. A lot of cigarettes cost just a buck a pack. Ok they taste awful, but they'll do, and if you can't scrounge a buck somewhere, man, you don't belong on the street.
Now, everybody wants a cigarette. Everybody. It is the most commonly used conversation starter here. Most of the time, they will offer to buy the cigarette. The going rate for one cigarette is twenty-five cents. Charge 'em thirty. If it's too early for the store to be open and they're desperate enough, you'll get it. And, if you somehow scored a pack of civilian i.e. Salem, Marlboros, etc, ...okkkayyy...now, we're talkin'...sixty cents. (sometimes someone will ask for a 'short'....that's street speak for a cigarette you are about to stamp under your foot because you smoked it. Don't bother. ) Ok, after a bit, hour at the most, you're sold out and you've just turned one dollar into six dollars. Buy another pack. Hit the noon, or late-riser crowd.
Another hour....now you're got twelve smackeroos. Save one smackeroo for merchandise for the rush-hour crowd and use the other eleven to get some coffee, a hamburger and a coke, maybe a fresh pair of socks, and a bus pass from that other homeless guy over there who is selling used bus passes.
Bus passes. Another item in your sustenance strategy arsenal. You can probably talk a commuter out of his when he exits a bus if he or she is is at their final destination. The pass probably is good for the whole rest of the day or night, and you sell it for, say half the price it would cost if your customer went into the bus station to buy the pass from an agent. If people are being generous that day with their used bus passes, you'll do better than ok. If not, so what, you'll get enough to buy a pack of cigarettes. One caveat here. DO NOT let the ticket agent inside the bus station see what you are doing. I won't go into detail, but you get the drift.
Then, there's SWAG. Swag is a widely used word for loot stolen in a heist, but we're not talking about that. SWAG is also an acronym for, among other things, Sealed With A Gift. My personal favorite however, is Scientific Wild Ass Guess. Swag is usually in a nice little bag and you can get the swag bags just about everywhere. Conventions, trade shows sporting events, homeless charity event giveaways, even some dentist offices. Things like T-shirts, shampoo, undies, toothbrushes, coffee mugs, ski caps...and so on. You'd be surprised what some people put into their swag bags. Once I even had a laxative, tucked right there beside the chocolate muffins. Anyway, don't get sentimental about this stuff. Sell it. Somebody out there needs a t-shirt, some shampoo, a toothbrush, a coffee mug...or even a laxative.
There are lots of other sustenance strategies. Some of them, borderline, uh, legal. and this is a family blog, so we won't go into detail now. But check back after the family hour is over and we will maybe go into depth on some of that borderline stuff. But it will cost ya.
Who can blame them? Our nation has no currency, so we can't just walk in, ask if they have a foreign currency exchange desk so we can get some of their currency to buy stuff and expect them not to snicker. What are we going to give them in exchange for the local moolah? A backpack?An old toothbrush? Half a can of Pepsi? They'd probably roll their eyes and say, "This here ain't no flea market, Pal, move on."
So we have had to devise other sustenance strategies. Mankind has been doing that for ages. The time was, way back when there were no banks, we were wee hunter-gathering home sapiens and our sustenance strategy was to procure plants and especially animals from the wild by hunting and foraging, and eventually we got wise to the beasts who could out run us and so we invented specialized tools like clubs, fishing nets, hooks, and bone harpoons. Imagine walking into a bank today with a bone harpoon. You'd get your Fifteen Minutes of Fame....and five years in the slammer.
Anyway, time marched on, and eventually we homo sapiens became barterers. We traded barley for salt; tea for seeds; cattle for wood and so on. Eventually, it was too much to carry around all of that barley, salt, seeds and cattle and wood, we we started to use tokens to represent those things. Coins, first used by the ancient Lydians, and later on, paper, invented by the Chinese. And today, we use paper and coins which represent a whole lot of gold stored somewhere. When you get right down to it, currency is just an abstraction. Unless you don't have any.
Will Rogers, the famous American humorist said, during the Great Depression: "Money was all appropriated for the top in hopes that it would trickle down to the needy." In recent modern day terms, this became known as "Trickle Down Economics," first coined by Ronald Reagan when he was running for the Republican nomination for president. George HW Bush, who was also running for the nomination, said that was just a bunch of "Voodoo Economics."
Voodoo, Schmoodo, we weren't getting any trickle down then, and we still aren't. But we do have these alternate sustenance strategies, and things to use as our coin of the realm...and they will have to do until some of that Voodoo starts trickling down on us.
First, even if you don't smoke, buy some cigarettes. A lot of cigarettes cost just a buck a pack. Ok they taste awful, but they'll do, and if you can't scrounge a buck somewhere, man, you don't belong on the street.
Now, everybody wants a cigarette. Everybody. It is the most commonly used conversation starter here. Most of the time, they will offer to buy the cigarette. The going rate for one cigarette is twenty-five cents. Charge 'em thirty. If it's too early for the store to be open and they're desperate enough, you'll get it. And, if you somehow scored a pack of civilian i.e. Salem, Marlboros, etc, ...okkkayyy...now, we're talkin'...sixty cents. (sometimes someone will ask for a 'short'....that's street speak for a cigarette you are about to stamp under your foot because you smoked it. Don't bother. ) Ok, after a bit, hour at the most, you're sold out and you've just turned one dollar into six dollars. Buy another pack. Hit the noon, or late-riser crowd.
Another hour....now you're got twelve smackeroos. Save one smackeroo for merchandise for the rush-hour crowd and use the other eleven to get some coffee, a hamburger and a coke, maybe a fresh pair of socks, and a bus pass from that other homeless guy over there who is selling used bus passes.
Bus passes. Another item in your sustenance strategy arsenal. You can probably talk a commuter out of his when he exits a bus if he or she is is at their final destination. The pass probably is good for the whole rest of the day or night, and you sell it for, say half the price it would cost if your customer went into the bus station to buy the pass from an agent. If people are being generous that day with their used bus passes, you'll do better than ok. If not, so what, you'll get enough to buy a pack of cigarettes. One caveat here. DO NOT let the ticket agent inside the bus station see what you are doing. I won't go into detail, but you get the drift.
Then, there's SWAG. Swag is a widely used word for loot stolen in a heist, but we're not talking about that. SWAG is also an acronym for, among other things, Sealed With A Gift. My personal favorite however, is Scientific Wild Ass Guess. Swag is usually in a nice little bag and you can get the swag bags just about everywhere. Conventions, trade shows sporting events, homeless charity event giveaways, even some dentist offices. Things like T-shirts, shampoo, undies, toothbrushes, coffee mugs, ski caps...and so on. You'd be surprised what some people put into their swag bags. Once I even had a laxative, tucked right there beside the chocolate muffins. Anyway, don't get sentimental about this stuff. Sell it. Somebody out there needs a t-shirt, some shampoo, a toothbrush, a coffee mug...or even a laxative.
There are lots of other sustenance strategies. Some of them, borderline, uh, legal. and this is a family blog, so we won't go into detail now. But check back after the family hour is over and we will maybe go into depth on some of that borderline stuff. But it will cost ya.
Monday, August 16, 2010
HOLY CLOUT
In Homeless Nation, we have no politicians, statesmen, precinct captains, ward healers, lobbyists and such, so we have no clout in city hall, the governor's office, the Congress or on Wall Street.
But, we have clout where it really counts. Up there in Heaven.
Yup, we have our own patron saint. St. Benedict Joseph Labre, and Lo and Behold, today is his feast day.
Now, when you consider that the Roman Catholic church has a patron saint for just about everybody and everything - I mean, there are patron saints for the internet; television; puppeteers; ecology; gall bladders, and even politicians.
And there's a patron saint for ice skaters. Saint Lydwina. She's a saint because she took a nasty fall on the ice and lived out her life as a suffering invalid. St. Sebastian is the patron saint of archers because he was the target of archers, and he is depicted on his medals stuck through with about a hundred arrows. Go figure.
Then you have St. Christopher. He used to be the patron saint of travelers....and probably of all of the many merchants who sold those millions and millions of St. Christopher medals that people hung around their necks when they visited various places, and on their horses and carts and later on the rear view mirrors of their cars.
Chris must have ticked somebody off up there, because he was demoted to Mr. Christopher.
He will probably be replaced someday as the patron saint of travelers by that charasmatic British guy who owns Virgin Airlines.
Anyway, our saint, St. Benedict Joseph Labre is the real McCoy. He was French. We won't hold that against him. He was born into a family of fifteen children. Dad was a prosperous shopkeeper. St. Benedict had a vocation when he was very young. He ditched the prosperous life and tried out at a few monasteries for a position as a monk. They didn't want him because they thought he was a little off in the head, and thus...not suited to the rigors of monastic life.
So he ditched that idea, and joined the Third Order of Saint Francis as a traveling monk, took the vow of poverty, abandoned his rich parents whom he loved deeply, and his country and became a mendicant/pilgrim/ascetic and visited all of the famous places of Christian devotion throughout Europe.
He traveled light. In his backpack was only a prayer book and a bible. He didn't have a change of clothes so he bacame known for his ragged appearance.and he never washed, so uh, you knew when he was around.
He did marvelous things. He cured other homeless people of their illnesses. He multiplied bread for them so that they could eat. And though he sometimes begged, he most often let people give to him of their own accord, and when he was given what he thought too much, he would, in turn give it away, even if it was only a penny.
Ha! Imagine this guy flying a sign at an intersection: "Homeless and lovin' it, don't give me nothin".
Ok, so St. Benedict finally made it to Rome. He slept in the ruins of the Colosseum, traveled every day to his favorite church, doing good things for people along the way, and continued to do good works. And sometimes he levitated. And he still didn't wash his clothes or eat much.
One day, he collapsed due to malnutrition. The priests at the church where he hung out, The Church of Santa Maria del Monti, carried him back there, where, after a few days he died, and they buried him right there at the church, which is now his shrine. He was only thirty-five.
St. Benedict became very famous throughout Europe after his death for all of the miracles he had performed when he was alive, and for the miracles attributed to him by people praying to him for his intercession.
That's how you become a saint. You suffer a whole lot, do good things and then do good things even after you're dead. And so St. Benedict Joseph Labre the traveling/mendicant/ ascetic was cannonized in 1881 by Pope Leo XIII.
St. Benedict, like probably all saints nowadays is a multi-tasker. Not only is he our patron saint, he is also the patron saint of bachelors, rejects, mental illness, beggars and hobos.
And we are very proud of him, and proud to be represented by him up there in heaven.
Now, that's some kind of holy clout.
But, we have clout where it really counts. Up there in Heaven.
Yup, we have our own patron saint. St. Benedict Joseph Labre, and Lo and Behold, today is his feast day.
Now, when you consider that the Roman Catholic church has a patron saint for just about everybody and everything - I mean, there are patron saints for the internet; television; puppeteers; ecology; gall bladders, and even politicians.
And there's a patron saint for ice skaters. Saint Lydwina. She's a saint because she took a nasty fall on the ice and lived out her life as a suffering invalid. St. Sebastian is the patron saint of archers because he was the target of archers, and he is depicted on his medals stuck through with about a hundred arrows. Go figure.
Then you have St. Christopher. He used to be the patron saint of travelers....and probably of all of the many merchants who sold those millions and millions of St. Christopher medals that people hung around their necks when they visited various places, and on their horses and carts and later on the rear view mirrors of their cars.
Chris must have ticked somebody off up there, because he was demoted to Mr. Christopher.
He will probably be replaced someday as the patron saint of travelers by that charasmatic British guy who owns Virgin Airlines.
Anyway, our saint, St. Benedict Joseph Labre is the real McCoy. He was French. We won't hold that against him. He was born into a family of fifteen children. Dad was a prosperous shopkeeper. St. Benedict had a vocation when he was very young. He ditched the prosperous life and tried out at a few monasteries for a position as a monk. They didn't want him because they thought he was a little off in the head, and thus...not suited to the rigors of monastic life.
So he ditched that idea, and joined the Third Order of Saint Francis as a traveling monk, took the vow of poverty, abandoned his rich parents whom he loved deeply, and his country and became a mendicant/pilgrim/ascetic and visited all of the famous places of Christian devotion throughout Europe.
He traveled light. In his backpack was only a prayer book and a bible. He didn't have a change of clothes so he bacame known for his ragged appearance.and he never washed, so uh, you knew when he was around.
He did marvelous things. He cured other homeless people of their illnesses. He multiplied bread for them so that they could eat. And though he sometimes begged, he most often let people give to him of their own accord, and when he was given what he thought too much, he would, in turn give it away, even if it was only a penny.
Ha! Imagine this guy flying a sign at an intersection: "Homeless and lovin' it, don't give me nothin".
Ok, so St. Benedict finally made it to Rome. He slept in the ruins of the Colosseum, traveled every day to his favorite church, doing good things for people along the way, and continued to do good works. And sometimes he levitated. And he still didn't wash his clothes or eat much.
One day, he collapsed due to malnutrition. The priests at the church where he hung out, The Church of Santa Maria del Monti, carried him back there, where, after a few days he died, and they buried him right there at the church, which is now his shrine. He was only thirty-five.
St. Benedict became very famous throughout Europe after his death for all of the miracles he had performed when he was alive, and for the miracles attributed to him by people praying to him for his intercession.
That's how you become a saint. You suffer a whole lot, do good things and then do good things even after you're dead. And so St. Benedict Joseph Labre the traveling/mendicant/ ascetic was cannonized in 1881 by Pope Leo XIII.
St. Benedict, like probably all saints nowadays is a multi-tasker. Not only is he our patron saint, he is also the patron saint of bachelors, rejects, mental illness, beggars and hobos.
And we are very proud of him, and proud to be represented by him up there in heaven.
Now, that's some kind of holy clout.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
DREAMS AND DUSTBINS
Dreams and vanities come to dust in Homeless Nation. Gone in a puff of primordial vapor.
Something bad happened. Whether it was a long, slow, steady descent, or a swift series of unforeseen and chaotic events, your world rocked, you forgot to duck, and you ended up here on the other side of the tracks.
It could have been a restive marriage ending in a colorful divorce which left you with nothing but a six pack to drown your sorrows. A taste for luxuries which you could not afford, a grinding dead end job which, finally just didn't bring in enough money to support you and your family. The economy went south, you got a DUI which meant you couldn't drive the 18-wheeler anymore, some lousy banker talked you into buying a house you couldn't afford....he knew that, and if there is any justice, he'll probably end up here, too....and you lost the house, everything in it ended up on the street and got wet in the hurricane that came along just then. You gambled away your rent payments and the kid's college funds and your wife threw you out; You were downsized, outsourced, laid off, or just plain fired . You drank too much, you used drugs and got arrested....a few times.
You got sick and lost your job at the same time, so you lost your insurance and now have a mountain of hospital bills and no money, and no prospects for a job for a very long time... you were snookered into thinking you had a rightful piece of the action sitting there in your back pocket, and then that rich guy company executive plundered your pension fund and ran off to some fancy tropical island with his girlfriend.
It doesn't really matter how it happened. You're here in Homeless Nation. You're here, and all of your dreams, are sitting in that dustbin over there. No steady job; no retirement to look forward to, no college educations for the kids, no house, no car, not too much food around, and some days not enough pocket change to buy a cup of coffee or a pack of cigarettes. You can't afford to get sick, you don't have insurance anymore. You haven't washed for three days, your clothes look like crap and your shoes don't fit right. And, oh yeah, there goes the political career.
Is it the end of human knowledge as you know it? Nope. That's the Mayan calendar thing. Which means you still have a couple of years to get it together before the pole shift, or the comet or the solar flare or that kookie North Korean with the Nucs gets us all.
Start easy. Sit down. Take a deep breath. Now, repeat after me:
"I MAY BE HOMELESS......BUT I AM ...SOMEBODY."
And don't forget that. Ever. And stick with the Streetpuppies, we'll show ya the way.
Something bad happened. Whether it was a long, slow, steady descent, or a swift series of unforeseen and chaotic events, your world rocked, you forgot to duck, and you ended up here on the other side of the tracks.
It could have been a restive marriage ending in a colorful divorce which left you with nothing but a six pack to drown your sorrows. A taste for luxuries which you could not afford, a grinding dead end job which, finally just didn't bring in enough money to support you and your family. The economy went south, you got a DUI which meant you couldn't drive the 18-wheeler anymore, some lousy banker talked you into buying a house you couldn't afford....he knew that, and if there is any justice, he'll probably end up here, too....and you lost the house, everything in it ended up on the street and got wet in the hurricane that came along just then. You gambled away your rent payments and the kid's college funds and your wife threw you out; You were downsized, outsourced, laid off, or just plain fired . You drank too much, you used drugs and got arrested....a few times.
You got sick and lost your job at the same time, so you lost your insurance and now have a mountain of hospital bills and no money, and no prospects for a job for a very long time... you were snookered into thinking you had a rightful piece of the action sitting there in your back pocket, and then that rich guy company executive plundered your pension fund and ran off to some fancy tropical island with his girlfriend.
It doesn't really matter how it happened. You're here in Homeless Nation. You're here, and all of your dreams, are sitting in that dustbin over there. No steady job; no retirement to look forward to, no college educations for the kids, no house, no car, not too much food around, and some days not enough pocket change to buy a cup of coffee or a pack of cigarettes. You can't afford to get sick, you don't have insurance anymore. You haven't washed for three days, your clothes look like crap and your shoes don't fit right. And, oh yeah, there goes the political career.
Is it the end of human knowledge as you know it? Nope. That's the Mayan calendar thing. Which means you still have a couple of years to get it together before the pole shift, or the comet or the solar flare or that kookie North Korean with the Nucs gets us all.
Start easy. Sit down. Take a deep breath. Now, repeat after me:
"I MAY BE HOMELESS......BUT I AM ...SOMEBODY."
And don't forget that. Ever. And stick with the Streetpuppies, we'll show ya the way.
Friday, August 6, 2010
WELCOME TO HOMELESS NATION
Homeless Nation is not on any map, or in any travel guide or airline schedule. It has no desk at the State Department, nor a seat at the United Nations.
Homeless Nation has no flag, national anthem, flower, bird, national pastime, or official holidays.
The population of Homeless Nation is, well, depends on who is counting this week....but a ball park (we don't have those either, as we have no national pastime) figure would put it at about, oh, let's say, on any given night, a few hundred thousand, give or take a couple of park benches.
Park benches, are in fact where a lot of us Homeless Nation citizens sleep. Those and bridges - well, UNDER bridges, no self respecting Streetpuppy would sleep ON a bridge for heavens sake -and parks and in small tents, and in doorways and cars and on church steps and porches, in fact, maybe last night, one of us slept on your porch, and ya didn't even know it.
Some real high class Streetpuppies sleep under the porticos of big libraries, or the back stairways and lawns of performing arts centers, or in the high arched doorways of court houses.
You probably see us everywhere, and don't really notice us, unless we put on a shiny vest and sell newspapers or fly a sign asking for help, or you have to step around us on your way to catch a bus.
We spend a lot of time at bus stations. Bus stations are kind of the communications and transportation center cum dressing room cum grooming parlor for many Streetpuppies.
Some Streetpuppies sleep in shelters, we'll have more on those later. And sometimes, if yer caught sleeping in a private place, you'll spend the rest of the night as a guest of the local police department. More on that later, too.
We walk around a lot, and carry everything we own with us, so we don't own much. We dine a lot at 'feeds' which are prepared and served by wonderful people who know how to cook.
And we watch the rest of the world go by, with nowhere to go...and nothing to do when we get there.
Over the next few months, I'll take you through Homeless Nation. the places, the people, the sights, the sounds, the sadness, the frustrations, the dangers, and yes, the love and joy I have found in this place, this Homeless Nation.
So, c'mon along. It's going to be a great ride.
Homeless Nation has no flag, national anthem, flower, bird, national pastime, or official holidays.
The population of Homeless Nation is, well, depends on who is counting this week....but a ball park (we don't have those either, as we have no national pastime) figure would put it at about, oh, let's say, on any given night, a few hundred thousand, give or take a couple of park benches.
Park benches, are in fact where a lot of us Homeless Nation citizens sleep. Those and bridges - well, UNDER bridges, no self respecting Streetpuppy would sleep ON a bridge for heavens sake -and parks and in small tents, and in doorways and cars and on church steps and porches, in fact, maybe last night, one of us slept on your porch, and ya didn't even know it.
Some real high class Streetpuppies sleep under the porticos of big libraries, or the back stairways and lawns of performing arts centers, or in the high arched doorways of court houses.
You probably see us everywhere, and don't really notice us, unless we put on a shiny vest and sell newspapers or fly a sign asking for help, or you have to step around us on your way to catch a bus.
We spend a lot of time at bus stations. Bus stations are kind of the communications and transportation center cum dressing room cum grooming parlor for many Streetpuppies.
Some Streetpuppies sleep in shelters, we'll have more on those later. And sometimes, if yer caught sleeping in a private place, you'll spend the rest of the night as a guest of the local police department. More on that later, too.
We walk around a lot, and carry everything we own with us, so we don't own much. We dine a lot at 'feeds' which are prepared and served by wonderful people who know how to cook.
And we watch the rest of the world go by, with nowhere to go...and nothing to do when we get there.
Over the next few months, I'll take you through Homeless Nation. the places, the people, the sights, the sounds, the sadness, the frustrations, the dangers, and yes, the love and joy I have found in this place, this Homeless Nation.
So, c'mon along. It's going to be a great ride.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
REPORTING FROM THE FRONT LINES OF HOMELESS NATION
As in many wars, insurgencies, low-intensity conflicts, and from those wonderful people who brought you Korea and Vietnam... outside declared war situations, and police actions, The front lines in the war on homeless nation are ill defined, fluid, exceedingly dangerous and chaotic. It's where it's happenin'.
And, yes. There is a war on homeless nation. A war conducted by the many cities, counties, states, agencies, associations, political entities, the United States government and just plain people against the citizens of homeless nation who exist in an abstract and parallel reality right inside the many cities, counties and states of this great country.
The rules of engagement in this war on homeless nation are mired in bureaucrateze and slogans and pronouncements and typically, only fully known to the forces who intend to use them. Whew, I'd say that's a big disadvantage, since we don't even know the the rules in the first place.
Ya might say...we're surrounded.
But we're not going to retreat. We can't, we're surrounded. So, we're here on the front lines of homeless nation, and going about our business, inside this "outside of declared-war situation" (That's an actual military term and it probably means, "What in the hell are we doing here, we don't even have enough headbands and boots and tanks for God's sakes!")
We're going to stay right here on this front line, and kinda let you know we are here, and who we are and so forth and what really happens here, and how we live in homeless nation. Kind of...crash through the information barricade that separates us from the other....nation.
I've learned a lot about homeless nation because I live here, and I have lived here for awhile. And I have learned about this place through experience and observation and wisdom gained through much struggle and hurt and pain, and love and humor. And I want to share all of that with you. And maybe by sharing who we are, I can help enough so that maybe this "outside declared war" on homeless nation might just, someday,end.
I'm a journalist by profession. I've covered a lot of stories for a lot of years. And I've covered a few wars, out there, in other nations. And when I came to this place, I was confused, frightened, and hurt with a deeply bruised soul,.... and homeless. And then....I was me, and homeless people were They. And then, They became me. And then me became we. And we.....are homeless nation.
And, yes. There is a war on homeless nation. A war conducted by the many cities, counties, states, agencies, associations, political entities, the United States government and just plain people against the citizens of homeless nation who exist in an abstract and parallel reality right inside the many cities, counties and states of this great country.
The rules of engagement in this war on homeless nation are mired in bureaucrateze and slogans and pronouncements and typically, only fully known to the forces who intend to use them. Whew, I'd say that's a big disadvantage, since we don't even know the the rules in the first place.
Ya might say...we're surrounded.
But we're not going to retreat. We can't, we're surrounded. So, we're here on the front lines of homeless nation, and going about our business, inside this "outside of declared-war situation" (That's an actual military term and it probably means, "What in the hell are we doing here, we don't even have enough headbands and boots and tanks for God's sakes!")
We're going to stay right here on this front line, and kinda let you know we are here, and who we are and so forth and what really happens here, and how we live in homeless nation. Kind of...crash through the information barricade that separates us from the other....nation.
I've learned a lot about homeless nation because I live here, and I have lived here for awhile. And I have learned about this place through experience and observation and wisdom gained through much struggle and hurt and pain, and love and humor. And I want to share all of that with you. And maybe by sharing who we are, I can help enough so that maybe this "outside declared war" on homeless nation might just, someday,end.
I'm a journalist by profession. I've covered a lot of stories for a lot of years. And I've covered a few wars, out there, in other nations. And when I came to this place, I was confused, frightened, and hurt with a deeply bruised soul,.... and homeless. And then....I was me, and homeless people were They. And then, They became me. And then me became we. And we.....are homeless nation.
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