Thoughts on Homelessness

A look into the lives that dwell on the corner of 9th and San Julian.

[christinelongoria]

Dinner With Larry

December 15, 2013

Let me tell you about the best meal I’ve had yet in LA. 

But first, Larry.

Larry is the first guy Tyler met when he started Povertees back in 2007. Their friendship began with a sack lunch, and now, 6 years later, he’s still a close friend. A couple months ago Larry decided he wanted to rebuild his life and get clean, so we helped him get into a rehab program at the Midnight Mission, with whom Povertees has a partnership with. Today is actually Larry’s 100th day in the program, and he's doing great. He’s put on weight, got a sharp haircut, and has so much clarity of mind. 

Last Thursday our team dropped in to encourage him on. But what we thought would be a quick hello turned into a blessing that none of us expected. After a few minutes of catching up he invited us to stay and have dinner with him in the cafeteria. As he ran to the kitchen to make sure it was ok, our team contemplated whether it was appropriate for us to stay and eat the food that is meant for the homeless. But before we knew it Larry was back and already reaching behind the desk to grab visitors passes for us. 

So we followed him into the cafeteria, albeit uncomfortably. He excitedly ushered us into line, making sure we each had a tray and silverware. Ty, Hughie, and I clearly looked like fish out of water. All eyes were on us; and when I realized I was one of two females in the room, the other of whom was a tiny woman in her late fifties, I wondered if I was even supposed to be in there. 

But Larry was insistent that we eat. When the cherry Kool-aide ran out on me, he hassled a worker to go get more so he could fill my tall cup to the brim. When he noticed that my plate didn’t have a piece of chicken, he got up to get me some until I was able to convince him that I’d passed it by on purpose. 

Once he had made sure we all had full plates and glasses, Larry joined us at the large, communal table - but he didn't eat anything.

“Larry why aren't you eating? Aren't you hungry?”  Tyler asked.

“Naw, I'm not hungry. I just wanted to give you guys this meal.” Larry replied. 

As we sat in LA traffic on our way home I couldn’t stop thinking of how special of a meal this was. For the past 6 years the PoverTeam has been sharing food, clothing, and friendship with Larry. And for the first time, Larry was able to give us something tangible back - this meal. 

Now I don’t care much for cherry Kool-aide. Plus the rice wasn’t fully cooked, the mac-n-cheese had an funny taste, and something was just funky about the salad. But because of the love and gratitude in Larry’s desire to serve us, it was hands down the best meal I’ve had since moving to LA. 

#LifeSewnTogether

[christinelongoria]

October 4, 2013

Yesterday I met D and Mr. Lion.

My guess is that he’s in his early sixties; skin leathered and eyes yellowed. His calloused hands tightly clutched the chubby plush lion that sat upright on his lap, like a child would. And the innocence in his wide eyes similarly betrayed his age. 

I introduced myself and went to sit beside him on the sidewalk when he abruptly shouted,

“Stop! You can’t sit there. Tha’s dirty ground. People pee there.” 

Reaching into his cart of belongings, he pulled out his shirt and carefully spread it out on the ground beside him, motioning that I could now sit. 

We talked about the cities we grew up in, our siblings, and our ambivalence towards baseball. We really bonded over our love for animals. He would love to have a small monkey as a pet; and a chihuahua; and one of those domesticated leopard-like cats. He’s very soft-spoken, and looked around a lot as we spoke - very aware of everything happening around us.

Mid-conversation, he noticed a woman parking her car across the street. As she put coins in the meter, he called out to her, warning that she was slightly in the red and needed to pull back, because they ticket “real bad” around here. When she didn’t hear, he started to wave his arms and yell louder until she got the message and moved her car.

I was so amazed at D’s concern for the strangers around him. He was so aware of our well-being; and so ready to help when it was compromised. And honestly, I can’t say that about most people I know. Especially of myself. I’m always thinking of myself. And if I actually do notice someone’s need, probably 9 out of 10 times I look the other way. 

And then there’s D, a homeless man who’s truest friend is Mr. Lion - and he is filled with genuine concern for the good of people around him, regardless of who notices. 

Now that’s humbling.

  #LifeSewnTogether

[christinelongoria]

September 10, 2013

Today Frank remembered my name.

As we pulled up I noticed a woman I hadn’t met yet, sitting on a crate and sipping from a McDonalds cup. Immediately she called out to me, “Baby Girl!” (This is one of the nicknames I've been given by this community, which I find endearing.) I sat beside her on the sidewalk and she introduced herself as "KC and the Sunshine Band," doing a little song and dance as she said it. She wore a woven sun hat, turquoise dangling earrings, a gray and white tie-dye dress (which she called her Jimi Hendrix dress), and hot pink running shoes. Full of charisma, she tells me I hadn’t met her yet because she’d been out shopping in Venice. She's so proud of her new outfit - the volume of her dress made her feel like a princess. With each sip on her McDonalds straw she winces, admitting that it contains a mixture of beer and vodka. 

But as we were talking, the most special thing happened. Frank, who’s been standing with the guys about 30 feet away, leaves their conversation and comes over to me. 

And through his broken teeth, he smiles and says, “Christine.” 

Extending his hand, he offers me a handshake. And a handshake from Frank has to be the best handshake I’ve ever had. Not because it is strong and affirmative, but because he's missing three fingers on his right hand. Yet he boldly offers that hand to everyone he greets - unashamed of it's dismemberment. 

“Christine.” Holding my hand, he smiles and says it again.

Thank you, Frank, for being the first person from 9th and San Julian to call me by my name. You have given me the encouragement I needed to know that I am valued in this community. 

How special it is to know and be known. 

#LifeSewnTogether

[christinelongoria]

August 27, 2013

“Are you those college kids that took away my uncle?” The words came from a man at the end of the street, who saw us and started to bee line. 

These words invoked the first traces of fear I’d yet seen on my teammates’ faces.

I’ve been going out to 9th and San Julian for a month now with the POVERTEES team. And every time I walk away with a new story. Some humorous, some inappropriate, and some disheartening. Tyler and Hughie have six years of this street corner under their belt. They know the faces that live there - their names, their stories, their struggles. Six years of investment have gained them a unique acceptance into this community. They‘ve exchanged respect for respect; trust for trust. The moment our silver Toyota 4Runner pulls around the corner, I see smiles stretch across our friends’ faces. 

A month in, I feel so honored that I, also, have been welcomed into this community. Every time I’m there, someone (normally Lewis) makes the remark, “She’s still here!” I think they expect that I’m a girlfriend or someone that will only be with them for a season. However, this is not the case, and soon they will realize that I’m here to stay. I understand their presumption about me, though, - a skinny white girl, how long can she hang with the grit of LA street life? But I hope I can prove their doubts wrong. 

“Are you those college kids that took away Larry?” the voice rasped again. 

Tyler immediately shook his head and pointed to Hughie, who looked up and nodded to the 6’4” man who was quickly approaching. 

His arms were outstretched, revealing the integrity of his strength. Hughie, who’s not a small guy, looked dwarfed by the height and build of this man. Looking up into his dark eyes, Hughie humbly admitted that he was the one that had taken Larry to rehab. For the first time since coming out here, I was nervous and uncertain of what would happen at those words.

But then, I watched as the man’s outstretched arms - changing from a position of animosity to compassion - wrapped around Hughie’s frame in an embrace. 

“Thank you,” he said, “Because of you, I know my uncle has the chance to live."

He then turned and offered me his hand, introducing himself as JR, then turning to Tyler he hugged him. I could see relief communicated between my team’s glances. Their fear, I later learned, was induced by a conflict this man had caused in the past.  

  But today, he hugged us - reminding me of our goal to live "life sewn together." 

[christinelongoria]

August 22, 2013

Monday morning we drove out to 9th and San Julian to pick up Lewis. Last week he had his drivers license stolen, along with his social security card. Sitting on a crate, he awaited as we pulled around the corner. Awaiting, because he knew we'd come. I jumped in the backseat so he could have the front, which he politely tried to protest. He was more quite than normal. The past two times I’d met him he’d joked with and teased the guys; yet in the most loving way possible. In the way that only old friends do - fearless of offending. But he was more reserved now. His eyes were bloodshot, leading my mind to imagine what life on the streets of LA must be like after the sun goes down. Yet I know my thoughts are naive and prematurely formed. The reality and severity of homelessness has only begun to hit me. But thankfully, because of my new friend Lewis, I’m better able to conceive the humanity of it. 

We ended up at McDonalds after our first attempt at the DMV was discouraged by the snaking line. A couple of breakfast sandwiches later, we returned to the car, where Lewis promptly opened my door for me. This act of courtesy is one that I have only found in my grandfather; I can’t say any of my friends think to do this for me. I felt so honored that Lewis made this simple motion.

Driving now through the fabric district, I asked Lewis who some of his favorite bands were; The Eagles, Fleetwood Mac, and Robert Plant were on the list. For a minute we listen to Fleetwood, when I’m hit with the realization that Lewis doesn’t have the luxury of music. I so often hide myself in a song, where a melody can repair the wounds in my heart. I wondered when Lewis last heard his favorite song.

However, what hit my heart the most about our field trip to the DMV was Lewis’ request for Hughie to be his representative for a rehabilitation program. In order to get into the program, he needed someone who would vouch for him, showing the supervisors that he was serious about getting clean. Humbly, he asked Hughie to do this for him, in full confidence, knowing that he loved him and would do whatever it took to help him get his life together. Hughie eagerly agreed, telling Lewis he would be alongside him every step of the way - all the while loving, all the while cheering. 

Who else could this man have asked this of? Who else is invested enough in his life to know his needs - to know that this ride to the DMV to get the proper forms of identification would increase his chances of getting into rehab and off the streets? To so many faces of LA, he is just another failed life - unworthy of a second, third, or even fourth chance; just another self-inflicted addict; just another man who finds his home on the corner of 9th and San Julian. 

But to us, he is Lewis Jones - our friend/aspiring screenwriter, in whom we love to live "life sewn together" with.