Carlo Romero – Page 8 – Carlo G. Romero

Homeless Interview #17: Appreciate Your Freedom

Patrick lost his right leg in Afghanistan while serving with the United States Marine Corps. He had been shot twice with a Kalashnikov and the damage was so severe they had to amputate it. He was out on Fifth Avenue asking for money so that he could save enough to get a prosthetic leg so that he could get a job. He has his construction license and a culinary degree but both professions would require him to stand up.

Patrick had a lot to say. He told me he lost his cash benefits from the military (though he still retained his medical insurance) because he moved to Toronto after he married a Canadian citizen. After four years in Canada, he got deported and can no longer return. He is still trying to bring his wife here.

For the first time since I’ve started talking to homeless people, someone else stopped to talk to the same person. An older gentleman, a professional, engaged Patrick in a warm conversation, thanked him for his service and then took down his phone number so that he could reach out Patrick so that he could give him a hand. I asked the gentleman, Neil, why he stopped to help. Neil said, “Matthew 25: ‘Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’ I stopped to help because Jesus told me to.”

When I asked him what he wanted the people who pass him on the street to know about him he said, “I don’t want them to know me. People don’t even say. ‘boo’. I want them to know that thousands of my brothers have died. Appreciate your freedom.”

Homeless Interview #16: Jeffrey Just Wants Five Guys

He was standing at the corner of 45th and Lexington, two garbage bags filled with stuff hanging around his neck. He said his name was Jeffrey and that all he wanted was enough money to buy a hamburger. He spoke with a slight British accent and he did, indeed, confirm that he was from the UK. How he ended up growing up in Newark, I didn’t ask.

He’d been homeless for a year and half. He had been living with his girlfriend but he said that she threw him out. He didn’t quite explain why. Unlike many of the homeless people I’ve met, Jeffrey said he actually liked the shelter system—when he could stay there. He had been put out, he said, for causing trouble but didn’t specify what kind. Usually he slept underneath the Triboro Bridge, he said.

He had worked construction and, in fact, here and there he found work. He was trying to save $300 so he could go upstate to find a job picking apples. If he made it upstate, in order to work in an orchard, he would probably sleep outside again.

What would he want people to know about him? “I’m poor. I’m trying to get some dough. I need a job. Tell someone I need a job.”

Homeless Interview #15 : I Would Have Finished College

A few hundred feet away from where the world famous ball drops at the stroke of midnight, I found Barry. He’s a young man, not yet 30, his thick beard belying his age. He’d been out on the street for six months.

He’s from a small town upstate, close to Troy. He had come down to New York because of a job at a restaurant. He was the last one hired so he was the first one let go when the ax fell. He’s been trying to find work ever since. During the weekdays (I met him on a Saturday) he’s on his smartphone, connected to one of the kiosks that provide free wifi, surfing the web, looking for jobs. “I have my resume on Indeed [a job posting site],” he said. So far, no hits.

He had gone to a shelter once and that one time, his stuff was stolen (not the first time I’ve heard this). They’re filthy, he says. He would rather sleep on the street, earn a little bit of money, and then sleep in a cheap hotel one night, then return to the street. Most nights he sleeps in a secluded spot, he said knowingly.

I asked him if he could go back in time and change any of his decisions, would he. “There are so many,” he responded. Can you pick one? I asked. “I would have finished college.”

The best thing that had happened to him was that someone slipped him $100. “What did they say to you when they did?” I asked. They do it when you are sleeping so I never know who it is. “It’s the ones who give you pennies that want something back,” he said. There are people who actually give pennies? He nodded and showed me the special cup he has just for those pennies.

All he wants from God is a job. A job that pays enough. He wants people to know that he’s a normal person and that he’s just trying to go home, back to that little town next to Troy, New York. “People are nice there,” he said.

I showed him pictures of the other people I’d met on the street and he knew a lot of them. “We look out for each other out here,” he said. “If you want more stories, go up and down 42nd street. You’ll find a lot more.” I told him I would return.

Homeless Interview #14 : A Man Has to Keep Going!

He was smoking a cigarette outside Duane Reade, standing next to a shopping cart filled with used bottles and cans. At first, he wouldn’t give me his name but he was willing to have a conversation.

He collects cans and bottles for a living. The cash he gets from returning them is what he uses to survive. Unlike many of the people I’ve met on the streets, he doesn’t receive any kind of benefit from the government. He also doesn’t like to beg but will accept money if offered to him. “A man has to stand on his own!” he declared. “I don’t like to lean on anybody.” He doesn’t even visit doctors, he said. True to his word, he avoids shelters. Just like Rodney, he went into the subway system to protect himself from the blizzard instead of seeking safety with an institution.

He had worked construction as a young man but no one wants to give him work today because he is too old. He has no friends and no family to speak of. He doesn’t even like to associate with the other homeless people around. “They’re all drug addicts,” he says.

As suspicious as he was when I first arrived, he became voluble as I prepared to leave, probably because this was the first time he had had a conversation in a long time. “My name is Pancho,” he finally revealed. “I’m from Mexico.”

His parting words were words of wisdom: “A man has to keep going!”

Homeless Interview #13 : A Small Miracle of Kindness

He seemed to be lurking in the Pax Wholesome Foods next to Bryant Park. I saw the cashier eying him suspiciously as he added sugar to his coffee, though he was wasn’t bothering anyone. He wasn’t asking anyone for money or even talking to anyone. He just wanted to have a warm cup of coffee.

The cashier surprised me, however, when she waved the homeless man over and started ladling hot soup into a large cup. I didn’t see the homeless man offer her any money so I offered to pay but with a wan smile the cashier just said, “It’s all right.” Thousands of times a day, all across this City and against its reputation for being harsh, small miracles of kindness like this happen and I had just witnessed one.

I asked him if I could sit with him. He shook my hand, happy enough to talk. He said his name was “Rodney”. He couldn’t tell me exactly how long he’d been on the streets but it had clearly been a long time. He wasn’t exactly all there. He had been evicted but didn’t tell me when and, according to him, no shelter was available. During the blizzard, instead of going to a shelter, he stayed in the subways.

He had been an usher at the AMC theaters two blocks away, he said. He said proudly that he had been there at the opening. The AMC theaters have been there for decades so this was a long time ago. Considering the condition he was in, he must have lost that job a long time ago, as well.

I asked him what he would want from God if He offered to grant Rodney anything. Rodney said, “I hope my cousins are okay.” Are they in trouble, I asked? He said they weren’t, but there’s a lot of pressure on them every day, a comment I didn’t understand. He had asked them for help but they threw him out. “I don’t know why”, Rodney said. “Because of my look?”

He continued, “I can get arrested for looking this!” He pointed to his slippers, he tattered jogging pants and his old jacket. “I’m not dangerous!” In a moment of surprising self-awareness he added, “Anybody wearing this, you don’t know what they’re up to.”

I left him when I had nothing more to ask and when nothing much more to say. He had been out on the street too long. He had been alone too long.

Homeless Interview #12 : Stolen Paperwork

Chris is the second Army veteran I’ve met out on the street. He was sitting in front of Saks Fifth Avenue, fifty feet away from St. Patrick’s Cathedral. The flag you see in the picture extends from the front of the church. He was wearing a large crucifix so I asked him if he was Catholic and when he said he was, I asked him if he’d ever been inside the Cathedral. “I go in there at least four times a week to pray.”

He’s been homeless for a year and half. He had been working construction, hanging dry wall in New Jersey. He got laid off. He couldn’t pay his mortgage so his house was foreclosed. He lived in a Motel 8 for a few months until his money ran out. He’s been looking for steady work but his paperwork–birth certificate, social security card, identification–had been stolen and without the paperwork, it was difficult for him to find legitimate work. He mentioned that Caitlin from Breaking Ground was helping him to get his papers, the same woman who was helping Nicky.

He did not indicate anywhere on his sign that he had served in the military. I found out in the course of conversation that he was in the Army for a year, stationed at Fort McClellan in Alabama. I asked him why he joined. He said, “I was young. They offered me the world. They got their hooks into me.”

I asked him what he would want from God if God offered him anything he wanted. “To have a home and to be with my family, my mom and my three kids.” His family is in New Jersey. I asked him if they were fine and he said they were. I didn’t ask him why he didn’t just ask them for help or stay with him. I should have. He’s not the first person I’ve encountered out here who has family somewhere else. I don’t know why they don’t ask for help but I can imagine more than a few reasons. Perhaps the relationship had frayed so badly that the street was a better alternative. Or perhaps it is shame.

I asked him what he would want people to know about him. He answered, “I’m just like everyone else. I’m a decent human being. Just because something bad has happened to me doesn’t mean I’m a bad person.” To a person all the people I’ve asked this question want to emphasize that they are good people. They must think that many of the people who see them begging on the streets are judging them and condemning them, holding them in contempt. Are they wrong?

Homeless Interview #11 : People Curse at Us and Spit on Us

I’m usually skeptical when I see a homeless man holding up a sign that claims he’s a veteran of the United States military. If true, the tug on the heartstrings would be too powerful and the shame of ignoring a man who had put himself in harm’s way for the sake of his people and his country would be too much to bear. It’s much easier to assume that he’s playing on our emotions in order to score easy dollars.

Something compelled me to stop and turn around, however. It was the first time I’d seen homeless couple. His wife had buried herself in his shoulder, hiding her face from world. The temperature was 27F and I was feeling the bite of the cold in my fingers, yet here was this couple, sitting on 42nd street between Madison and 5th, hoping that someone would stop and help them. They were largely ignored and I was about to ignore them, myself.

I asked him if he was okay (his wife showed no interest in my presence) and he said, “We’re hanging in there.” I asked him if it was okay I talked to him and sat down next to him (making sure that I gave his wife a wide berth) and he was happy enough to talk.

He said his name was “Jose” and his wife’s name was “Dana”. Soon after I started talking to him Jose showed me a picture of the child he had lost. In the picture, he was holding Dana and she was holding Jose Robert, born stillborn on January 31 of this year. “He was going to be ‘junior’,” Jose explained, “named after me and then Robert is Dana’s father.” It wasn’t the only loss they’d suffered this year. Jose’s mother, Jose Robert’s grandmother, had flown in from Puerto Rico to see her grandchild born. She succumbed to breast cancer three weeks before Dana gave birth. “It’s been a tough year,” Jose said, matter of factly.

Jose said he had been in the Army National Guard from 2007 to 2010. He was an 11B Infantryman, serving with the 63rd out of Arecibo in Puerto Rico. Before that, he had been a chef in New Jersey. He had had a house and a car and things were going well, according to him. When he left to serve, the owner of the restaurant had guaranteed him a job upon his return, but in his absence things spiraled downward for business and when he returned, he didn’t have a job to return to. He said it only got worse from there. I didn’t press him for details. I didn’t really have to. 2007 to 2010 just happened to coincide with the worst financial crisis since the Great Depression. After the restaurant failed he had three jobs at one point but it still wasn’t enough.

They’d been homeless for five months, he said. At first, they were homeless in New Jersey and then someone told them that it was better to be homeless in New York City because of all the services they would be able to receive, so they came. When they arrived, they slept on the F train for 4 nights. They ran into the bureaucracy of the shelter system prevented them getting a placement. Lawyers from the Urban Justice Center had to fight for Jose and Dana just so they could get a place to stay in converted hotel called the “Aladdin”. He spoke warmly of “Libby”, the lawyer who fought for him.

Doesn’t he get benefits from Veterans Affairs, I asked him. Can’t they help you? He scoffed. He’d been waiting for his benefits for years, he said. He was honorably discharged and he was still waiting. They owed him five years of benefits, he said. Other lawyers were fighting for him to get the benefits he was due to no avail. “We’re out here freezing,” Jose said, “while they’re inside and warm.”

(At this point in the interview I had to pause and stop taking notes. I had taken my gloves off in order to write in my notebook but it was getting too cold for me to continue. Then I realized that this couple had been out in this cold for days, the same cold I couldn’t take for minutes)

There had been a man, Jose told me, who asked him dumb questions about the military, trying to see if Jose was lying about his service. Jose showed that man pictures of him in uniform, of him and his unit. Satisfied, the man left, leaving Jose with nothing. I suppose it is hard to believe that this would be possible, the veterans we so hallow living on the street. A quick check on the internet will reveal that by last count, there are about 50,000 homeless veterans. I had been talking to one of them.

Before I left I asked Jose what he would want the people who will read this and the people who are passing him and his wife by to know about him and Dana.

“We’re not like the other people out here,” he began, “We’re not feeding habits.” In Jose’s experience, most of the homeless people he’d encountered we’re on drugs. “In the five months I’ve been out here, I’ve had to take four homeless people to the hospital because of drug problems. If I were rich, won the lottery or something, all these people out here, I would buy their homelessness. I would give them money tell them they can’t be out here. 70% of them are lying. Stranded? For two years? Come on! If they’re on drugs, that’s all right, just don’t lie about it. Get help.”

“People curse at us and spit on us,” he continued. “We even got robbed! Someone took our cup and ran away. We’re just trying to survive. I wish people would be more understanding.” He said that he was looking for work, trying to get jobs. He pointed at the McDonald’s across the street and said, “I’ve even applied over there. Any job would be good right now.”

Before I left I told him that we were trying to set up a computer education program at St. Paul’s for homeless people. I gave him the date, the address and the time and a way to reach us. I turned around and walked away. I didn’t want him to see me tearing up.

Homeless Interview #10 : The Biggest Mistake of My Life

I found Charlie on Fifth Avenue, not thirty feet away from Carlos whom I had interviewed exactly a week ago. He didn’t have a cup in front of him so I asked him if he needed help. He said, no. Did he need money? Again, no. I asked him if I could sit next to him and ask him questions. At 75 he was hard of hearing but he was happy enough to have a conversation with me.

He gets $412 from Social Security, he explained. That, and whatever he collected on the street, was all the income he had per month. In other words, the amount of money he had to spend in one month would be barely enough to cover my cell, cable and gym bills. “I worked for a restaurant, off the books,” he said. “It was the biggest mistake of my life.” That’s why his Social Security check was so small. If he had worked legitimately for as little as five years, he explained, he would have had $200 more.

He became homeless nine years ago after he had had a heart attack and he slipped and feel at the restaurant, shattering his right arm. “It’s all metal,” he said. Medicaid paid for the surgery but recently he lost coverage. “I can’t get pills for my heart right now.” He added wistfully, “Maybe I can get temporary help somewhere…But by the grace of God, I’ll be okay.”

He’d been sleeping at the Bellevue Men’s Shelter all these nine years. According to him, it’s the largest shelter in America. I asked him if it was safe and he said, “yes” but I think he misheard the question because he added, “there’s a lot of rats and bed bugs there.” He continued, “If it were warm, I would sleep out here forever.”

I asked him what he would want from God and he said, “To take me away and let me get to heaven.”

He placed his earthly hopes in Section 8 housing, a program created by the Federal government in 1978 to help low income people. “The Federal government looks out for you,” Charles said. He was on the waitlist for a studio apartment. At 75, Charles had no family to speak of. “They’re all gone,” he said. I didn’t ask him to explain.

When I asked him what he would want people to know about him he said, “I’m homeless. I’m sorry about it. If I could do it over again, I wouldn’t work off the books.”

Before I left I told him I’d see him around, that I’m always on this street. Again, he didn’t ask me for money. All he said was, “Will you say ‘hello’ from time to time?” I promised him I would. And then I left.

Homeless Interview #9 : Mr. Eight Sees Miles and Miles of Smoke

(It’s snowing in New York right now and the wind is blowing. I don’t see any homeless people on the streets–not even my regulars–probably because they found a warmer place to be. I’ll post an interview from yesterday, instead.)

I met Mr. Eight on Broadway, in the Financial District. He was almost hidden, sitting against the wall of the building, under the shadow of the Freedom Tower at Ground Zero. I asked him his name twice, unsure if I heard it correctly. “Yes,” he said, “you can call me Mr. Eight,” as in the number.

He’s been out on the street for a year. He had had an office job, but he got laid off.

I asked him if ever stayed in shelters and he said emphatically, “No!” It’s bad in New York City, according to him. They make you take medical tests and fill out forms and jump through bureaucratic hoops.

“There’s miles and miles of smoke!” Mr. Eight said about the shelters in New York.

“Cigarette smoke?” I tried to clarify.

“Cigarettes, weed, crack. That’s just what they do,” Mr. Eight answered.

“It’s one step forward, one step forward”, he continued. “Why can’t everything be normal. Christ died on the cross a long time ago and yet we still suffer abuse and poverty and homelessness and things of that nature.”

When I asked him about the best thing that had happened to him in the last week, a big smile formed on his face and he said, “Someone bought me a Big Mac!” I just checked and a Big Mac meal is $5.99. Giving him that amount of money would not have given him a tenth the level of pleasure. But someone making the effort to go to McDonald’s, order the Big Mac and offer it to him was a level of consideration several orders of magnitude greater than he usually received. More often than not, he was invisible to the thousands of people who pass him daily–including to me.

“All these people passing you by and all the people who are going to read this, what would you want them to know about you?” I asked him.

“That life is real,” Mr. Eight began. “This can happen to anybody. The struggle is real. I’m still going through it. But I’m still fortunate. I havent given up hope. I still go to church once a week. And have an Associate’s Degree, believe it or not.”

He held up his sign and then showed me the back. “This young lady helped me out,” he explained. She had been homeless, herself, and knew where to get food and other resources. He wrote all of her suggestions on the back of cardboard sign. “Now I know I can go to Bowery mission to get something to eat. There was a time all I could get what the sacrament to eat but the young lady helped me.” He continued, “Theres a small network out here. If you can help someone out, you help them out. I give people information. I help when I can.”

Homeless Interview #8 : I Don’t Want to Talk About This Anymore

I found Nick on the corner of 42nd and 5th. He was sitting cross legged, his head bowed down, his long wiry blond hair covering his face. Before I crouched down and started talking to him, I wasn’t actually sure if I was talking to a man or a woman. When he looked up and revealed his face, I saw that he was young, in his twenties.

Q: How are you?
A: I’m exhausted. From last night.

Q: Where did you sleep?
A: On the street.

Q: You don’t go to shelters?
A: I’ll never go to a shelter.

Q: How long have you been out here?
A: Since the winter?

Q: How long have you been homeless?
On and off since I was 14 years old.

Q: How did you become homeless?
A: My mom lost her place. I’d been in and out of foster homes. [Pause] I don’t want to talk about this anymore.

While I was sitting next to Nick a man on his way to work stepped over me and grunted, “Get out of the way.” A woman who seemed to know Nick stopped by to give him a sandwich and a cup of coffee (it’s the second cup in the picture). I wanted to ask her questions, ask her why she helps, but she was on her way to work, as well, and didn’t have time.

He didn’t want his picture taken but he was fine with the picture of his cup with money, the hot cup of coffee and his legs covered with a blanket. I showed Nick pictures of the other people I’ve met so that he would get a sense of the story I’m trying to put together and understand. He knew Steve and Nicky but otherwise had very little reaction to seeing their pictures.