Category: Homeless

Thanksgiving Dues

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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?

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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.

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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.

Dave Parker Accused of Bank Robbery

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In my legal career, I represented a couple of Bank Robbers. One, my first Federal case, resulted in a dismissal. My investigator, Sharon Duckman, believe it or not, and I timed the trip from the bank to where the alleged thief, my knuckle headed client, was arrested, and, argued, along with some other evidence, that he could not have covered the distance at rush hour. In another case, one which I acted as standby counsel didn’t end up the same way. My client, a man with a prior for the same charge, received a pack that blew up, covering him with orange sludge. Captured on video, the FBI agent who had previously arrested him, recognized his face and proceeded directly to his home. My client let him in, made a full confession and then either allowed the agent to search his house or they got a search warrant, I cannot remember which, leading to the discovery of the clothes, bank bag and some other detritus connecting him to the crime. Oh, did I mention a handwriting expert tied him to the demand note? I did the opening and the closing statements and cross-examined the agent. He represented himself, doing the rest. A jury convicted him. Sentenced to 20 or 30 years, he brought an ineffective assistance of counsel motion against me, arguing I didn’t ask the agent the questions he wanted asked.

I spoke with a few other bank robbers and may have represented one or two. They struck me as being different. Bold. Defiant. Fearless. One told me the drug of choice for bank robbers was coke, because you needed courage, even if falsely provided by drugs, to walk into a bank and demand money. Armed or not armed, the robber has to have a plan. The guys with the loot stand behind counters. People with guns guard them. Cameras record everything. Silent alarms notify the cops. Slick, direct and quick. Come in unobtrusively, make a demand, take the money and run. The robber has to have an entrance plan and an exit plan.

Read today that Dave Parker robbed a bank. Don’t care if he did it or didn’t do it. No one hurt physically. Sure some traumatic effects on the bank people. People who rob banks don’t think about such things. I wonder what they do think about? Can’t be that they will enjoy the money and live happily ever after. Maybe they do, who knows?

I got one idea. Getting cold out there. When you don’t have a place to live and you have drug and alcohol problems, in addition to a TBI, going to jail rather than a more serious and tragic alternative, could be an easy way out. Who knows? He deserves a fair trial and a just sentence. But it’s a drastic solution to a solvable problem.

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Richard Cave, a/k/a Caveman a/k/a Israel

So, I know him as Caveman. Easy monicker, like mine, based on the surname. Recently found a spiritual name. He says his mother was Jewish. Parents sat shiva when she married a Catholic. He took on a biblical name, one that denotes he is one of the people. Me, I am a Kohane, a word that doesn’t mean anything to him, Jewishly speaking.

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These guys on the street act in several plays. Not many of us has the courage to even live one. 71 years old and starting to look it.

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He tells me we used to hang out in the same places in the Village in the 70’s. His friends and I went to New York Law School together. Now, he lives on the streets. Moving to Waterbury on Wednesday into a sober house. Wants to make a movie about street life.

Poor Is Poor

One gas station in Chelsea became a pasture for fake lambs as it awaits a high priced condominium complex near the art galleries. New York can be bought during the last days of the Bloomberg Era. Lambs will buy the units. sacrificing reason for a touch of make believe class.

But the billionaire Mayor hasn’t figure out how to make trickle down work, yet.

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New York City has 8,000,000 stories. Not all of them speak to success and achievement.

 

 

Jeremy

Says he’s been on the street, travelling for 12 years. Has his faith and a Mother. She doesn’t tell him the truth, but his faith does. Never wants for anything. Lives day to day. Doesn’t want help, but asks for money.

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They come and go. New ones every week. How do they find Burlington. Noway here from there. He says he’s been here before, but I have never seen him. Where he came from? He said everywhere and nowhere. Where’s he going? Doesn’t know. Will work for cash. Now, that’s smart. No taxes. Doesn’t have to contribute to Social Security. What would he do? Who would hire him? Carries a duffle and a garbage bag. And he has his sign.

Richard and Skip Feed the Ducks

Last time we saw Richard, he and the sailor shared the set. Richard, today, came to feed the Ducks and mourn his sister’s death. He casts potato chips on the water attracting Ducks while remembering his sister. I tried to explain that potato chips weren’t good for Ducks. “…, they come right up to me and eat them. They like them.”

Skip aged since out last shoot. “Hard out here. Slept here last night …. You age fast on the street.”

Lot of effort goes into shooting on the street. Sometimes, you gotta find them. Sometimes, you gotta have equipment. Never know, as a street shooter. Then I gotta get them to stand still, which really isn’t easy if they are stoned, drunk, on meds or angry. I could go on. The biggest stressor? Do they trust me? Damn. I love seeing them. Fear their deaths. Questioned about the people I know or knew, I show them a portfolio of recent photos. Most of my notebooks have two copies, because I haven’t been able to find the person pictured. Never give to people who promise to deliver. Another thing to carry.

So, Richard talked, after he heard from me, “… about being alive, being alive, being alive.” “You gotta do what you gotta do, … even if it means doing what you can do.”

Lone Sailor Watches Over Richard North

Little nippy today in Burlington by Lake Champlain. Al fresco doesn’t suit me. But for a chronic drunk who hasn’t dried out lately, the feel of the Lake Breeze and warm morning mist offers sleeping opportunities few can appreciate and fewer would take advantage of.

But, there, in the shadow of ECHO lay Richard North.

And his vodka bottle.

I’m sorta glad the two of them look out for one another. Don’t you wonder what they talk about? We know the Lone Sailor watches for his ship, so he ain’t drinking. But what does he think about the mess, the bottles and the bodily fluids deposited nearby?

Aren’t you glad he has his gloves. Don’t want cold hands. Damn. I cannot sleep without a pillow either. You try lying on cold marble or granite. Got to passout not to feel the pain.

One day, I fear, he will end up like my friend Paul O’Toole, dead on a grate.

Cheryl’s On ChurchStreet

I have been taking pictures of Cheryl for a while. Funny how when a photographer knows the subject, the images improve. You can feel the trust and see the honesty, despite the desultory plight.

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She has nothing, right now, she says. The evil step-mother took her money, leaving her homeless, a condition which caused her to have to return to jail to max out for lack of a residence. No one has given her any supplies, which she included in her requests just in case anyone would think she had a drug or alcohol problem which needed to be fed.

She delivered a message from a woman in jail who I have photographed. With no family or friends, the woman asked if I would write her. The woman faces the same prospect of maxing out due to a lack of a place to live. Not many supportive environments out here for people who have paid their debt. Dismas House heads a short list. But they kick you out if you don’t have a job, a problem for people with mixed substance abuse and mental problems.

Ryan looks out for her.

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Four months ago, she looked like this. What did society gain by keeping her in jail.

Eric Thinks He Knows

We care about him, despite his declarations to the contrary. Yesterday, he complained that too many people lectured him. “Social workers, street workers, friends and my mother ….” Well, Eric, it’s because we don’t think you will survive the winter.

“I just want a place to say what I know to be true. I know what they want me to do. Go to Voc Vermont. Eat at the Food Shelf. Sleep at cots. Then they’ll give me a place. Suppose I don’t want that? I want to be free. How bad am I doing? I do what I want. So, I drink too much. People have lived on the street for years, 30, 40 years. They tell me I’m just a baby.”

Ramon walked by. Offered Eric a cigarette. Ramon had a store bought pack. Eric took one and then rolled his own.

Sleepless in Burlington VT

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End of Summer. Atonal kind of day. Chilly following a blast of summer. Lots of people without places to stay, wondering what will happen when the weather turns frosty. But, for today, and the last couple of days, just find a place to crash and try to relax.

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Eric didn’t look like he would make it. But he has resolve. Won’t let anyone help him. It’s there when he wants it, but he doesn’t know he needs it. Not sure it will  make any difference or that he will survive.

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Probably want a Ben and Jerry’s, but they weren’t open.

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Battery Park offers a view of the Lake and the sky. A favorite spot for Rudyard Kipling when he lived in VT.

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Find a bench on the Battery. Protect your things and your skin.

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Asleep in mid thought. Had a place to sleep. Dozed in public.

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Near a bathroom facing the Lake. First time I felt threatened. Dogs running free. One kid said, “…, retard …, I love fucking up old men.” Not very Burlington of him, eh. I got scared and left.