Photography Thinks
As Chet Baker sings, … everyday is Valentine’s Day.” Not for Molly. She’s still on the street. Hard enough not having a place to live.
David’s back, too. He’s still lost and adrift. But, he thinks he’s cool.
Bill Traveller doesn’t get any older; his lines grow deeper, hiding years of travail. Where has he been? Where have they all been? Places I’d never go.
And, Katie looks like she’s Catherine the Great, just off a barge ride down the Volga.
Had never seen the guy before. He sat with a traditionally messaged sign on the wrong side of the street, on the heavily trafficked corner across from Ben and Jerry’s where no one sits. Bright shoes. Big camp back pack. Hardly someone who doesn’t want to be noticed.
With the wind, snow and cold, I couldn’t go out. We must have emerged at the same time after two weeks in hibernation. First guy I saw after stepping out of my car into long missed but not forgotten sun. He stood behind the fence at Rite Aid, one of the City’s dingiest spots. Had to ask about the tattoo. “Got it in Las Vegas. It’s a coverup. Lost a bet that three girls that I was running could make more money in a night than another guys. The payoff was the tattoo: Lost in Vegas. And a telephone number. My girls took the money, bought drugs and spent the night getting high. Couldn’t get them to work. So, I lost. Got the tattoo and left. Then I got it covered up.”
So, Richard North has given up. But, who knows? He disappeared for a few days. Skippy told me he went to the hospital. Richard said they advised him to stop drinking and to take his heart medicine. I offered to take him to pick up the medicine. “Not now.”
Two kids passed, telling me to pay Richard for the priviledge of taking his picture. “Like, who the fuck are you? Will you help me?” They kept walking. Richard: “…, they are kids, leave them alone.”
Lenny struggles. Has social skills and smarts. Family in the area. Knows what he has to do, except for battling the demons. Got into a program. Got a job levelling tables. Still needs to ask for more help. Courteous to a fault. Has his life on his back.
Ten years ago I worked as a Public Defender in Middlebury. People in custody were kept in a basement holding area that allowed for safe transfers from cars to the jail, but unhealthy and borderline unconstitutionally improper cells. There was plenty of room for counsel visits, with no privacy, no windows and claustrophobic pens. When a prisoner arrived financially unable to afford counsel, a lawyer would be assigned to the case. Almost no one, except for the DUI, out-of-towners, had retained lawyers, most of whom could plead out a drunk but not try a case. The Deputy Sheriff would find the on-duty PD or call out the name of the defendant. One day, I heard, “whose got Larkin Forney?” Frankly, I thought it was a sandwich or a condition. I said, “what’s a Larkin Forney?” “You’re client, you idiot. He’s downstairs, with a pile of papers and he wants to talk with you.”
Larkin had papers, all right. He had motions he had written which he wanted to file and he had a full statement of facts, his version, and he had pages of a book he was writing. And he was pissed that I hadn’t familiarized myself with all the nuances of the case before we met. I had to excuse his vituperativeness, given the fact I would leave the cell and he would stay. He may not have known I only just got the papers and barely had looked at them as I walked down the stairs. And, poor communication between offices of the Public Defender and the general malaise of some of the attorneys prevented me from knowing he had fired his previous PD after writing a complaint to the disciplinary committee accusing the lawyer who is now a judge or magistrate or something or all sorts of unethical conduct, asserting that the representation was less than adequate and unconstitutionally defective.
[MORE To Come]
Sharon and I volunteer at the Burlington Emergency Food Shelf. If you have stuff which people can use, I will pick it up and distribute it. Call me. Someone will use it.
A lot of people I have photographed on the street come for breakfast and then, if eligible, pick up food and supplies. Today, Rich Fish came in. He has a place to live, though not one where he feels he has enough safety and structure. But he has a place to cook and a place to store food. The last time I shot his image, he was cooking franks down by the Coast Guard Station on a grill. I found him, delivered a print, which he lost when someone stole his backpack, or maybe he left it somewhere.
He couldn’t find butter in the cooler. He needed to cook noodles/pasta, which will stick together without it. Previously, I had given him a dollar which he had designated for a beer. Now he has a problem: he needs another dollar, some butter or he can settle for sticky noodles. He thanked me for the dollar and headed off with his groceries. No longer homeless, he can only come every two weeks and what he gets ain’t much. But, in this weather, he’s a lot better off than he was and not as good as he will be now that he is off the streets.
Earlier in the morning, I had given a dollor to a person who didn’t want it. The guy, whom I have seen on the street, said to give it to someone more worthy. I don’t know his name and he hasn’t let me take his photo. But he always says hello, sometimes calling me Dick, instead of Duck. I told him he could give it to someone worthy and refused to take it back.
As the morning shift wore on to its end, I saw the guy give the dollar to a woman who was picking up for herself and family. She accepted it, graciously, walked over to me and handed me the dollar. “You deserve this for helping us.”
Don’t call him homeless, he’s not. Just houseless. Manages to skrimp by. Loves his place and his dogs. Arranges detritus. His grounds have museum quality street art. He surrounds himself with graphics and sculpture. Wood keeps him warm. Imagination keeps him alert.
Gotta keep warm, too. So, he splits wood. Friends help him out, loaning him the equipment and bringing him wood. He needs some socks, shoes and gloves. Could use some food, too. But, he ain’t complaining.
I couldn’t survive a minute, living the way he does. Incredible survival skills.
Paul Bunyan. Bigger than life. Not ready to define himself.
OK, she and Robert have a place while the weather feels frigid. Living at the Econo Lodge, they receive 28 days lodging, but have to move out for a day, assumedly because if they stay for a month, statatory tenants rights would accrue. So, they got to move their stuff for a day and then get approval to move back. She still has AIDS and the agency suporting her is still looking for more permanent housing. Robert’s OK. He worked his sign in South Burlington near the ramp, hoping the cops wouldn’t make him move.
So, people, not many, have asked what I am doing for Thanksgiving. Does it matter? I will eat something that’s on my diet, nothing special. Gave up Turkey years ago. Used to work in the Courts enabling people to spend more time with their families. Then Sharon and I would go to Peter Luger for dinner. In VT, everything closes down. I’d go to EB Strong, a local steakhouse, but it isn’t open.
Dawn looked cold. Felt worse than it was today. If it were March, people would say its a heat spell. She didn’t manage her money well this month. Out of cash until December when she gets her check. What will she do?
Russell had a guy living with him who punched him out and then tried to have him kicked out of his place. He prevailed. Has a turkey and trimmings from the food shelf. People feared the shelf would run out of Turkeys. Someone yelled at Russell for being in line, because he didn’t look homeless or needy enough.
And, there’s Molly again. Close, but not just there. She’s got Ed’s dog to keep her warm, but the cold bricks on the street don’t care. She can do it. Just not sure when. Until then, we got to pay our dues and not eat more than we give.
The road to recovery can be bumpy. Just cannot give up hope. David fell off the wagon again, to use a trite term, which used to refer just to drinking, but now, who knows. He’s got no place to go and no place to hide, except the park and the street. Warm today. Tomorrow, could be cold. After all, it’s Vermont.
Nicknamed after a raffish cartoon character, he resumed his birth calling, David. He had a place to live and some work. He lasted for close to a year. Too soon to know when he’ll return or as what.
When I saw him over the past few days he said needed to bolt from Dodge. He asked for $10 for a bus, like they would have let him take a bus ride somewhere. Then he asked me what I would do if someone said something about my Mother. Don’t know why they would, but I don’t care. She and I had a difficult relationship which should be of no mind to anyone. He obviously does care and something obviously happened which if I knew, I could explain, but not understand. Lots of people die in the name of religion, love and mothers. And some even blame their failures on them.