Date: Tue, January 18, 2005 9:04 pm
Unedited text sent to the Worcester paper, ROAD TRIP Part II.
I’ve traveled over 5,200 miles since December 22nd, been through 20 states and twice as many cities and I don’t need to move another inch to decisively conclude that being homeless sucks. In fact I didn’t need to leave Worcester to prove that to myself. What I did want to discover was whether it was any easier to exist anywhere in this country without a “legal address”. It isn’t. So far my journey has taken me to the gulf coast of Florida, the hills and marshes of Tennessee, the snow covered mountains of the continental divide, the harsh deserts of the southwest, and the tropical paradise of the southwest coastline.
The story is the same everywhere. As one man put it, “They’re tough on the homeless in this city”. He was flying his sign for change in San Diego, but he could’ve been in any city. Another man, Roy, I met on my second day out of Worcester at one of this country’s most interesting phenomena, the Travel Center. These roadside travel centers have evolved into tiny cities of sorts providing everything the road-weary traveler could think of needing; showers, (usually about 8 bucks a pop), stores with everything from atlases to underwear and coffee mug warmers to l.e.d. illuminated ashtrays, as well as restaurants that specialize in huge plates of heavy food, cheap.
As I pulled into South Carolina’s travel center, South of the Border, (for gas and world famous firecrackers), I couldn’t help but notice Roy. He was standing near the on-ramp to I-95 with a pile of gear 4’ high and 12’ 'round. With him also were a woman wrapped in a throw, quietly rocking in a lawn chair, and two highly excitable dogs. My first thought was that this poor guy’s RV exploded and he was left stranded right there in the rain and fog. We approached each other with considerable unspoken respect and a certain amount of realistic caution. I left my travel companion and the van in a lot across the road as Roy left his companions and gear to meet me halfway. After a few brief banalities we discovered our common cause and before long we were all packed in the van for the ride to Savannah, Georgia. They had been stranded for 10 days and the cardboard sign said, “Will go anywhere to get out of here”. It was Christmas Eve. It turns out that Roy has been on the street for 15 years. He’s made a commitment to his “adopted mom”, Debra, to take care of her and see to it that she is not institutionalized. In his words, “she is mentally ill”. That was the most I could learn of her. Other than an occasional outburst of random laughter, she didn’t speak a word during the whole trip. We picked up another rider, Cord, on his way to Daytona to surprise his mom for Christmas. With 5 humans, the dogs, Justin and Poofer, and all that gear, the van was flat on its suspension. I had to ask Roy why he lugged around so much stuff. He answered, “For her, and so that people driving by have no choice but to see the reality of poverty in this country.” He added, “Plus, the cops are less likely to bust me ‘cause they have to inventory every last stick of it.” It is Roy’s plan to build a wagon, strap himself to it in logging chains and manually pull the whole bit across the country. As well as to get people’s attention he hopes to raise support for a homeless newspaper.
Currently he gives away the jewelry that he makes along with a request that the recipient try to keep 5 promises: that they help, 5 friends, 5 homeless people, 5 strangers, 5 children, and that they speak to the policy makers wherever possible and encourage them to make some real changes. He asks that each of those newly helped people in turn pass it on.
Eventually we dropped our new friends at an on-ramp near Savannah. In the time it took me to charge the two car batteries that power the TV for Debra he had a camp set up under a tree just out of immediate sight. For a finishing touch, he covered the whole thing with a giant matte black tarp. He said, “Look at that. Disappears like a black spot in the night”.
We left them with a bag of beads that were given to me by a friend at the Worcester Artists Group, a couple of Food Not Bombs t-shirts and some bags of cashews. He laid hands on the van and said a prayer for us. I wish that we could’ve spent Christmas with him, but we parted with the hopes that our paths will cross again.
Roy was just the first in a string of inspiring individuals I would come to meet over the next 30 days. Paul and Rita Palumbo, formerly of Worcester, opened up a diner on Ft Myers Beach about 3 years ago. Paul told me a story of a homeless guy who came in one day cold and hungry and asked if he could wash windows for a meal. Paul helped him out and, “Now”, he says, “The guy has his own business. He runs a bigger ad than us. ”The business is called Clearer Image and the guy is Mike Powers. By the time I caught up with Mike on the phone I was already in his home state of Tennessee and he had just returned to Florida. Mike says that he’s grateful for people like the Palumbos and that there are some good programs in Ft Meyers, but for the most part, “They’re tough on the homeless in this town”. Where did I hear that before?
In early December, Ft Myers officials passed an ordinance banning the distribution of food in public parks. The local paper quoted Mayor Jim Humphrey as saying, “Our parks should not become food kitchens”, (The News-Press, Dec 27). Parks, (or Commons, as they were originally called), evolved for exactly such a purpose. Since medieval times Commons have been used by the poor as a place to share resources. Even Boston’s Puritan founders knew that in 1634 when they first established the Boston Commons. For the last 5 years Rainbow Ministries had been serving meals in Centennial Park, as a direct result of the new city ordinance 100s of hungry people will need to seek food elsewhere. It was sickening to me just how openly and unashamedly human rights are disregarded in that part of Florida. The same paper quoted local resident, Donna Bechtold as saying, “What they are doing is great, but it shouldn’t be in my yard”.
Until as recently as WWII the “private property” in question existed only as marsh and wilderness area that nobody wanted. Prior to that the inhabitants were mostly homeless Native Americans who had fled into the marshes in hopes of escaping the Trail of Tears. During the postwar hosing boom a few industrious scoundrels began dredging out channels and creating buildable land. Most of the developments stand on fragile land and much of it is less than 10’ above sea level. Last year hurricane Charlie came through and proved the folly of that plan. Winds and seas left thousands of families with nothing. The Federal Emergency Management Agency, (FEMA), has provided temporary trailers for families. Despite nature, politics and the moral issues behind all of this people still flow into Florida in droves.
It’s human nature to want to improve ones living conditions, so it stands to reason that people seeking to escape the harsh northern winters would find these affordable developments attractive. These so-called “snow-birds” are usually working within modest pensions in a world of rising health care and housing costs. Our system as it stands perpetuates the cycle. Perhaps one solution is to own nothing. About 12 years ago I owned a 10 room pre-revolution colonial home in Boylston, I had 3 cars, money in the bank and a business. Due to an addiction I lost it all in one fell-swoop. I’ve been clean ever since, but reluctant to rebuild in the same superficial way. In one sense it felt freeing to be so completely and suddenly unencumbered. In the movie Fight Club there is a quote that sums up the sentiment, “It’s only after you’ve lost everything that you’re free to do anything”.
I’ve often wondered if people could consciously walk away from false and material security and if that would be more genuinely freeing. In Knoxville Tennessee I met Joshua, someone who has done exactly that. In 1995 he gave up all his material possessions and has been living and traveling as such ever since.
Joshua is part of a Christian fellowship that formed in the early 70s. The 100 or so members scattered throughout the country refuse to call themselves by any name. Though they are sometimes referred to by others as “the Brotherhood”, there are many woman members. Their primary emphasis is on spiritual health and they spend little time with other matters. He told me that they usually camp near the outskirts of a town and squat, (with permission), when in urban areas. Most of their food comes from dumpster diving and donations.
In central rural Tennessee I visited a communal farm known simply as the Farm. There, instead of shunning all material possessions entirely, everything is held in common. In the mid 70s they claimed over 2,000 members. Now, with less than 200, and fewer original members, they are seeking ways to adapt and keep the experiment going.
Something frustrated me with both societies. While there was obvious appeal to each community, I couldn’t help feeling that I would have to give up myself to be accepted into the fold. In Joshua’s group it was straight-forward that you’d have to become the same brand of Christian.
The requirement at the Farm was subtler, but I got the distinct feeling that if one didn’t adopt the mannerisms and styles of the rest, then in short order you simply wouldn’t fit.
Surely there must be a common ground. One where anyone who cannot or will not conform to the status quo can find acceptance and tolerance. I believe the Spacement in Worcester is such a place.
Currently I am at Ocean Beach, San Diego. I’m warm and dry in my van looking out at a calming surf. To my left are 2 cops giving tickets to homeless people for loitering. I stated at the beginning of this piece that it sucks to be homeless. This is case in point. My feeling is that this is a big planet; all I want is a place to park my van without the constant threat of arrest or fines.
On this beach are the full spectrum of homeless: the usual shopping cart type, teenaged runaways, surfers, stoners and those who have simply run out of highway.
Next issue I will be profiling some of the people I am meeting here as well as reporting back on conditions in L.A. and elsewhere.
I now have the additional problem of loneliness as my friend and travel partner has had to return to Worcester. I will stay here to adjust to the change for another day or so before continuing along the Mexican border and on into Austin, Texas, where I will visit collectives and a friend from Massachusetts.
Along the way, just east of El Centro, California, is a community of snowbirds. They are renting land controlled by the Bureau of Land Management, (the BLM), next to a geo-thermal power plant.
Please send your comments to beanphoto@riseup.net. I will be uploading images as they are available. If you are interested in supporting this project, much needed contributions can be sent to the editor of the Worcester paper.