Robert was the first person I’ve met in five days of interviews that fit the stereotype I’ve had of homeless people, the stereotype I grew up with. That image came from a time in New York’s history when it was a far more dangerous place–not the adult playground it seems to be nowadays.
Robert was at least in his sixties. His wild white beard was tinged with streaks of brown residue of unspecified origin. He was unkempt. He clearly hadn’t bathed for an inordinate amount of time. He didn’t seem to be in full command of his mental or emotional faculties. In short, Robert matched the image I kept in mind whenever I justified to myself ignoring the obvious needs of these human beings I encountered on a regular basis on the streets of New York.
Robert didn’t trust me. I don’t see why he would have since I’m sure that, as far as he was concerned, I was simply the latest installment in the long line of people who’ve failed him. Not that I can blame him. He didn’t want his picture taken nor would he allow anything he owned or anything in his environment be in a photograph. I had to settle for a sketch.
Q: How long have you been homeless?
I’m not going to tell you that. I don’t tell anyone my story. Being homeless is no joke. I can’t tell you how long I’ve been out here.
Let me tell you something. Times are difficult. Everybody is one paycheck away from hell. Thousands of people laid off. Don’t you read the news? A lot of people are out of work.
I’m not telling you anymore.
Steve, whom I met on Day 2, told me that there’s a way for homeless people to keep clean. If I met one who was dirty, he warned, it means they’ve given up. Robert, in that sense, has given up.