Focus
The Michigan Daily - New Student Edition - September 8. 1998 - 3F
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*Ann Arbor's homeless attempt
to overcome past, rebuild lives
Lorraine sat in front of Good Time Charlie's earlier this year with her 13-year-old boy at her
*side, begging students to give money to "a hungry, homeless family."
She received a few slices of pizza and a Pocket full of spare change, but the donors were out-
numbered by students who averted their eyes and turned their heads away. Lorraine berated
those who did not acknowledge her pleas, but said she is thankful for what she received.
"In Ann Arbor people can afford to be a little more generous. In Ypsilanti, I'd die out here,"
Lorraine said. And Lorraine is not alone.
By Reilly Brennan and Jason Stoffer m Daily Staff RePorters
* Photos by Margaret Myers and Aia Dekleva Cohen
ere's a man in Ann Arbor with a red-and-
blue striped sweater who doesn't know
what he'll be doing in five minutes.
His eyes are glazed over and his semi-
bleached hair is ratted and pulled back behind
his ears. All he can say, again and again, is
"There's so much confusion. There's so much
confusion."
Early the next morning, the sweatered man
descends onto the streets, the shelter door slam-
ming shut behind him.
He represents a part of the United States that
most people pretend does not exist. Not all these
people are mentally ill or addicted to drugs and
alcohol. Many are just a step away from main-
stream America - people who, at one time, held
a nine-to-five job, owned a home and supported
a family.
A place to sleep
Jeffrey spends his days in front of East Quad
residence hall, talking to students with a bottle-
in-hand. Many of the students know him by
name, give him a hug and even ask him to smoke
a bowl in their rooms.
He has laid roots in Ann Arbor, but he was a
real-life Ken Kesey, traveling the country as a
counterculture figure.
Jeffrey attended four universities, including
Duke and a small community college in the East.
But his transitory nature and the opportunity to
tour with the Grateful Dead lured Jeffrey away
from academia. As he sat on a curb on East
University Avenue, running his fingers through his
knarled white beard, he pondered why Jerry
Garcia deserved a commemorative postage stamp.
"I toured with the Dead and loaded speakers
and shit for them for five years," Jeffrey said.
"What a bunch of bunk - Garcia is getting a
stamp. I smoked with him all the time."
LSA first-year student Eric Bernstein goes
out of his way to help Jeffrey.
Bernstein said he rarely gives money to the
homeless when walking home to East Quad, but he
has developed friendships with Jeffrey and some
men who "basically live in front of Taco Bell"
"I usually take extra pieces of fruit to them,"
Bernstein said. "I know these guys like to drink
a lot, so I usually don't give them rhoney."
Bernstein said these men may at times seem
rude, though they are good at heart.
"Every once in a while I'll see them at house
parties. They know a lot of people at this
tschool," Bernstein said. "Everyone loves to hear
Jeffrey's stories about touring with the Dead.
He's one of the nicest guys around."
On a chilly afternoon, Jeffrey found solace in
the warmth of Taco Bell.
He was joined by a friend who identified
himself as "Pork Chop."
Invigorated by the warmth, Jeffrey recalled
his journey from Florida to Ann Arbor.
"I got a job as a line cook in a restaurant in
Fort Lauderdale (Fla.) that was a front for a
Mafia cocaine operation," Jeffrey said. "This
* pretty girl came in one day, and it turhed out she
was a U of M student on spring break, and we
got to know each other that week.
"Then the restaurant I was working in got
raided by the feds and I decided to move to Ann
Arbor to live with her."
After speaking continuously for more than
an hour, Jeffrey suddenly went silent. He looked
back at Taco Bell's door and stared at an enter-
ing police officer.
A few seconds later, the manager and officer
walked up to the table, told Pork Chop he was
trespassing and gave him five minutes to leave.
Pork Chop had trouble understanding what
was happening, and Jeffrey told his friend to lis-
ten to the police officer's orders.
"Now you see what goes on. This type of
thing happens every day," Jeffrey whispered.
"They usually don't get me because I'm smarter
than most of them are."
The store owners tell a different story. Tony
Shamoun, manager of In and Out Food Store.
said homeless people cause problems on a regu-
lar basis.
"They're not only homeless, they're drunk
half the time. For all the taxes we pay here, the
cops should take them out," Shamoun said.
"With all the tourism Ann Arbor gets to see,
people like that out here is ridiculous."
Shamoun said homeless people ask him for
money 20 or 30 times each day, and he is unable
to prevent them from loitering in front of his store.
"I walk out and tell them to move and they just
come back five minutes later," Shamoun said.
"They bug the hell out of everyone out here.
"I wish (the police would) take them out of
here. They shouldn't even be homeless - they
should go and get
jobs. They are as
healthy as you or I." "You c le
After the officer
left the restaurant, deal throuj
Jeffrey threw anger
aside and picked up humbleness,
his story where he
had left off, remem-
bering his first days Ann
in Ann Arbor.
"I married the girl
in 1984, got ajob doing groundwater monitoring
for an engineering firm and had a daughter," he
said. But after five years of marriage, he said,
"things fell apart."
"I had nothing. I was fucked up on drugs and
was pissed off with the world," Jeffrey said. "I
just blew up and left and I've been homeless ever
since."
James Bryant, manager of Ashley Day
Shelter, said some homeless people don't want
to be helped.
"Some of them think it's a good situation"
Rich said. "They could work for a few weeks,
and then use the money to get high."
Jeffrey said that while he has lots of good
friends, the streets are mean, and every day is a
struggle for survival.
"It's like war out here," Jeffrey said. "We
have to deal with the
crackheads who want
to take you for every
penny. If they can R
take you to a back
alley and slit your " 3
throat they would.
"I've had three friends floating in the river.
One of them was choked to death and another
had his throat slit. I sit around and mind my own
business and that's probably why I'm still alive"
he said.
Jeffrey said that tomorrow he will leave his
friendly corner to spend 30 days behind bars.
His crime was committed while trying to find a
warm place to sleep.
"I was arrested at night for trespassing,"
Jeffrey said, shrugging his shoulders. But he had
no apologies.
"I sleep where I put my head," he said
Where change starts
Chinelo is no bum. A former Kmart mer-
chandise specialist. Chinelo doesn't ask for
handouts or commit petty thievery. He works
part-time at the People's Food Cooperative on
Fourth Avenue.
He is one of the many inhabitants of a shel-
ter on East Huron Street, a place with sticky
floors, smelly walls, ragged couches and mili-
tant vagabonds.
"People have jobs herel" he said. "We work.
We live as normal human beings. We still feel
we need a chance." But he is wary of the terse
relationship between the homeless and the city.
"Ann Arbor doesn't
want us here - we
m
arn a great
iff
- Chinelo
Arbor homeless man
know that" he said. "We
know this lot is worth
more as a parking lot
than a shelter."
Bryant said many
homeless use Ann Arbor
as a base to turn their
lives around.
"If I had to be home-
less, I'd want to be in
"If we do some-
thing really great Above:
here, Ann Arbor can Last January
be the model for the Chinelo, two
rest of the world," he Ann Arbor
said. "I expected to homeless men,
go to the Michigan were living in
Union and find some the Huron
great things going on Street Shelter
with a lot of student while trying
activism. I didn't to find jobs.
find it.
"It's a place for Right:
students to eat and Chinelo, the
get to their ATM," he coffee shop
said. "That isn't a philosopher,
real student union. said Ann
This town needs Arbor's
something." activism has
He gestured with withered
his large, skinny fin- away.
gers while he told of
his passion for
activism and learn-
ing about people. He
yearns to study pho-
tography at a com-
munity college. He
loves great debates
with people in Borders Books & Music, and he
visits the library regularly, often browsing the
Web.
However, this seemingly idealistic enthusi-
asm is coupled with a keen sense of realism,
often shockingly interweaving the two qualities
at any point during conversation.
"America thinks everything is equal. It's
not," Chinelo said. "I really began to understand
how America works from this point of view. To
really understand people you must first under-
stand the inequality in this world."
Pointing to the floor of the shelter, he said
"real change starts here, on this level."
A lost Christmas
Joseph never thought he'd be where he is
now. Five years ago, he fell down three stories of
stairs while working as a chemist for Stroh's
Brewing Company.
Now, he sits in the dungy basement of a
homeless shelter, with his mental faculties and
desire to work intact. But with his cyatic nerve
damaged, working is difficult, if not impossible.
"I just got out of the hospital yesterday," he
sighed, pointing to the hospital bracelet loosely
attached to his wrist.
Joseph graduated with a chemistry degree
from Dillard University in New Orleans. He is
divorced and maintains regular contact with his
12-year-old daughter. He looks down as lie
explains why he could not buy her a Christmas
gift.
In November "I was robbed. That deprived my
daughter of a Christmas and forced me to stay in
the shelter longer than I would have liked," Joseph
said. "The shelter itself is not a problem, but there
are other elements who prey on homeless: loan
sharks, gamblers, drug dealers."
George, a fellow shelter resident who was lis-
tening from the back of the shelter where he was
ironing his shirt for work, said the homeless are
rarely perpetrators, but often are victims of crime.
"Homelessness is a problem swept under the
rug," George said. "The homeless have never
been dangerous. It's common knowledge people
get their government checks at the beginning of
the month. Drug dealers and other thugs take
Ann Arbor," he said.
Bryant said Ann Arbor has extensive ser-
vices available for individuals who want mental
or substance abuse counseling, or need help
finding housing and getting a job.
Chinelo has not given up on life. As he sits on
a ripped couch in the basement of the shelter, he
admits that this is not the best place for him. He
has learned a lot through his experiences, he said.
"I made some bad choices" Chinelo said.
"To me, it's not an embarrassment to be here.
You can learn a great deal through humbleness."
Still, he realizes he is young. In a few weeks
he will be organizing a hip-hop event at the
Gypsy Cafe on Fourth Avenue that will combine
music and poetry to examine the problems of the
community and possibly stir up some emotion in
a town that he dubs "conservative and lifeless"
gonna get back in the work world,' Joseph said.
"I'm always trying to learn new things. I go to
the library every day to teach myself about com-
puters and the Internet."
Despite his disability, his efforts seem to be
working. "I like to say: 'If the mind can con-
ceive, you can achieve.' I have an interview with*
an engineering firm on Monday" Joseph said.
Packing up, moving on
A week before, Andrew spent his nights in a
shelter in Ann Arbor. But now, he walked out its$'
doors, clutching a cardboard box with the last of:
his belongings and headed to a new apartment.
The laborious task of working two jobs, sav-1
ing every spare penny and living his days in the
shelter was more than he could take. "I'm just,
trying to work," Andrew said. "I just want to
keep saving more money, saving more money."
Andrew spent a few months in one of Ann
Arbor's shelters after trying to stay as far away as
possible. "At the shelter, I tried to stay very:
arms-length," he said. "You become friends with
people, but nothing more than simple chit chat
I tried to stay away."
George said he thinks many homeless people
take the shelter and other services for granted.
"I've been pleased with how people treat the.
homeless here," George said. "The homeless in.
Ann Arbor are spoiled and need a good kick in
the butt. Like with welfare, people sometimes,
find a comfort zone and it becomes a cycle."
Andrew never let himself fall into this trap..
His deep-set eyes and long, dark hair chronicle
the life of a man who smiles with a gentle strain.
Not lacking drive, but rather seeking an
eventual goal, Andrew was unsure of his life's.
end and aspirations. "I'm just trying to save
money," he repeated while drawing circles with
his shoe on the rubber step. "I haven't really
thought about what I want to do."
The obsession with leaving the.shelter cons
sumes conversation. Whatever Andrew speak:
of ultimately turns to his plans to work and sav
money. "In Ann Arbor you need two jobs." he
said. "This place is very expensive."
Andrew packed up the last remnant of his life
at the shelter, and was too tired to even withstand:
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