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of here before long. Let's hit it out a here." As we were
leaving, he offered to give me an extra coat he had, but I
declined. Even though I knew I would be cold, I didn't want to
take something from him he'd probably need later. I was also
offered a pair of boots by someone else that morning, but I
turned them down as well.
Bob, one other guy whose name I didn't catch, and I left for
the day shelter while others headed to the public library, to
work, or to collect cans on the streets. We had to wait in the
bus station to keep warm until the shelter opened at 9:00. Bob
paid a dollar to get into his locker at the bus station and got
out a pack of cigarettes. I told him that he could have bought a
pack for that amount and have had his original pack too, but
he explained that if he didn't get in his locker everyday he
would have to pay $3 for each day he missed. I told him he
should use a locker on campus because it would be a lot
cheaper, and he replied, "Yeah, man, and get thrown in jail for
trespassing." I noticed that he, like most of the others, was
paranoid about being hassled by the cops and being thrown in
jail.
Nine o'clock came, and we headed for the shelter. As I
walked in, I looked around. Most people were talking or
reading. A couple were trying to study. I met a guy named
Kevin, who said he'd help me learn Spanish. He said he had
learned Spanish, himself, in college several years ago. Later
while I was just lounging around, Bob gave Winston, another
new guy, and me some practical advice: "Hey, when you go in
to get a job, you gotta look sharp and don't give'em this
address. It's known around here. Don't tell no one if you get a
job. The shelter'll save your money for you. There's a lot a
hot college babes around this town. To pick up the chicks,
you need a couple more holes in your jeans and a Rolex watch.
A little sweet talk'll help, too."
There wasn't much to do at the day shelter besides talking or
reading. Doug was waiting to get back the two dollars he had
loaned to his advocate. An advocate is someone who is
supposed to help homeless people find apartments, give them
forms to receive free clothing from the Salvation Army, and to
tell them about possible job opportunities. After he got the
money back, Doug invited me to The Brown Jug and insisted
on buying me a cup of coffee. Even though he had been there
before and always left a tip, our service was bad. I guess his
cans rattled a little too loudly.
We left the Jug and headed over to the First Congregational
Church which was sponsoring the dinner that night. The food
consisted of lasagna, salad, and cookies which really weren't
that bad. In fact it was the best food I was to have all week.
Noodles must be cheap because we sure had a lot of them at
just about every dinner. Compared to the uproar at breakfast,
the atmosphere at dinner was pretty mellow. After dinner,
everybody returned to the night shelter which opens around
7:30. When we got there, we waited outside the open room for.
the rules to be read at 8:00, but nobody listened to the rules
when they were read anyway. They were the same rules they
heard every night.
Once the shelter volunteers unlocked the open room, we all
got settled and either played cards, talked about the day, argued,
watched other people argue, or tried to read a book or a daily
paper. After a while, Harold came in and proudly modeled a
pair of clothes he had found near a dumpster that day. Those
watching him were impressed with what he had found. "You'll
get a job with those clothes," someone said. But when he
modeled a second pair of clothes he had found, Jim noticed
something Harold hadn't - he had dog shit on his sleeve.
"Look at that dog crap," Jim said as he flung the excrement off
Harold's Hawaiian shirt onto the floor. The place was filled
with laughter, and Harold was hassled for the rest of the night.
The next night, I didn't stay at the W. Huron shelter because
it was too crowded; I had to go to an overflow unit at an area
church. The overflow unit was generally regarded as cleaner,
safer, and better than staying at the night shelter. Since the
unit had just been moved from another local church to this
church/school, it was everyone's first time sleeping there. We
got a sleeping mat, a pillow, and a sheet from a room in the
gymnasium and carried them to the sixth grade classroom
where we'd be sleeping. Lights went out at 9:30.
"Goodnight everyone, and don't let the bed bugs bite," I
said.
"Goodnight Mr. President."
"Goodnight John Boy."
"Goodnight Elizabeth."
"You wish she were here!" The remarks continued until a
couple of others warned -us to shut up. People of every type
stay in the shelter I visited. They range from age 18 to 88. In
practice, no one under 18 is supposed to stay at the shelter;
they are turned over to other agencies. From what I observed,
approximately half of the people staying at the shelter are
Black and half are white, while there are at least two males to
every female. According to Jojo, one of the homeless men at
the shelter, the people there can be broken down into two
groups. One consists of the people who are sincerely trying to
get out and look for a job and a place to stay. The other
consists of people who will be there forever mainly the people
who are "crazy," he said. Jojo believes people in the second
group should not be housed at the shelter but should be in a
different environment, such as a mental institution. Instead,
the "crazies" stay at the shelter and are not getting any better.
But regardless of which group people at the homeless shelter
fall into, they are all lumped together and treated the same.
Jojo doesn't believe he is getting the help he needs. He thinks
the shelter's organizers should put their resources into helping
people get jobs and apartments. "The longer one stays at this
shelter, the more his self-esteem fades away," said Brian, a 20
year-old at the shelter.
People end up living in the shelter for a variety of reasons.
Steve, who grew up in Detroit, moved here after quitting his
drug dealing past. To support his own $500 to $1000 a week
crack addiction, he sold drugs. Now, after completing a
rehabilitation program, he's here trying to start over.
Jeff, like many others at the shelter, are former convicts. He
had gotten out of prison two months ago. Unable to get a job
because of his record, he's been living at the shelter.
Mary, a retired nurse, isn't homeless but goes to the shelter
a couple days a week for company. She said that even though
she has a house, she doesi
shelter to live there beca
doesn't trust them.
John, 22, grew up on th
He doesn't know where hi
school in the eighth grade,
Bob, who works for a m
his rent and other expense
the shelter, he can afford t
other things he enjoys. I1
probably afford a cheap a
shelter is a bad place to sta
George, around 50, w,
telephone switch board op
college degree in business
doesn't have a job.
Mark can't afford housii
all his money on drugs.
Even though Nelson v
himself since he only mak
One day, at the shelt
everyone discusses what
homeless, screamed, "This
are here." He wanted to
everybody at the day shelt
should be required to con
for people to get their fee
everyone know I care abo
and will do anything to
sleeping two feet away frc
a knife is going to be pu
I'm wrong or right. Tell
pointed to each person.
Nine out of 10 agreed v
meetings mandatory?" he
replied that he didn't knov
couple other shelter organ
back to them. Housing, jc
were a few of the other tc
the two hour-long meeting
It's safe to assume that
want nothing less than to
put it, "They have hol
opportunities are scarce
they're walking around v
Unfortunately, most of th
circular flow from whichi
After finishing this artic
if they thought the article
wanted me to add a lot mor
everything I was asked to,
book. Instead of adding to
them. The interviews are a
MIKE: How's it going?
tell me a little about yours
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The shelter at
420
W. Huron
f you want to know what it's like to be homeless, try it,
man," Doug, a homeless 36 year-old can collector told
me. So, on Doug's recommendation, I headed down to
the night shelter at 420 W. Huron to try it out for myself.
When I got to the shelter, I was asked the usual questions.
"Do you have any ID?"
"No."
"You don't know your social security number, do you."
"Nope."
"What's your full name?"
"John Lyell."
"Are you working?"
"Laid-off."
And so it continued. None of my answers were true. After
registering, I sat down on a sofa and just looked around. There
were two sleeping rooms upstairs and an open room on the
first floor in which people could talk, read, play cards, or hang
out. I knew I wouldn't be able to get a shower that night since
there was only one shower for the men and one for the women,
and the men's line was already backed up. While sitting in the
By Michael Gunther
room, several of the people in the shelter introduced
themselves and welcomed me. "You must be new in Ann
Arbor. I'm Bev. So, what's your name."
"I'm Mike... er, I mean John. That's what everyone calls
me. What's it like here?"
"Ann Arbor's cool but you sure want to get the hell out of
this place as soon as possible."
That night I was sleeping in one of the rooms upstairs,
crowded with 50 or so other men lying on old mattresses on
the floor. Suddenly, I was awakened by a stabbing on the other
side of the room. I couldn't sleep for the rest of the night.
Finally, morning arrived. It was 6:30 and time to start a
usual day of the homeless at the shelter. We headed down to
St. Andrew's Church to eat a free breakfast, and the first thing
I noticed was a sign at the entrance reading: "NO WEAPONS
& NO FIGHTING, NO DRUGS & NO SMOKING, NO
ALCOHOL, NO RADIOS." The breakfast consisted of corn
flakes with powdered milk, a cheese substitute, peanut butter
with bread, oatmeal, and hot dogs. The food didn't look too
appetizing so I didn't put much of it on my plate.
"Better get more, man. You ain't eating nothin' till
tonight," was my advice from a homeless friend I had met the
night before. Dinner wouldn't be served until 5:30. Area
churches take turns providing a free dinner for homeless people
each night of the week. Some who could afford it would eat at
a restaurant for lunch while others would wait until dinner for
their next meal. One old man poured half of each bowl of his
cereal into a jar, so he would have something to eat later.
While we were eating, we could hear a homeless woman in the
back arguing with another woman while one guy was
threatening to fight someone on the other side of the room.
The volunteers in charge of the meal ignored all of the
commotion and stayed out of the line of fire behind the counter
where they felt safety was sure to reign.
The First Presbyterian Church, which provides free dinners
on Wednesdays, prevents these types of situations by having a
bouncer handle any disturbances. Laughing, Bob said to me,
"There's more crazy bastards in here than in a nuthouse - it's
safer in the slammer. You'll go crazy in here if you stay too
long. It's almost 8:30 and they'll be bitching at us to get out
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Pr"%GE 8
WEEKEND/OCTOBER 14,1988
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