In 2001 I was homeless. I was in Coleraine (Northern Ireland), where I had moved for a lucrative job, when I found myself without work, without money, without home. I went from Coleraine with just what I was able to carry and started walking to Belfast. I considered that a city would give me a better chance of work and a better chance of finding somewhere to stay.
After about two hours walking, a lorry driver from TESCO stopped and offered me a ride (I hadn’t been asking for one), gave me $10 (that I hadn’t asked for) and dropped me off outside the Salvation Army hostel. I went inside and obviously they didn’t offer much Salvation, so I walked away and started wandering the city (a city I had never been to before - a city I knew had places that were very dangerous to wander).
A Police car eventually pulled up alongside me and asked if I was OK, I told them I was trying to find somewhere to sleep and that I had no money, they then gave me a ride to the hostel on Verner St. I was lucky to get there safe and I was very lucky to find somewhere so quickly.
What a lot of people don’t realise is that when you have no address, you get no money from the British Government. In the USA, they at least give you Food Stamps. So if you have no address, you can’t get money from the Government, you can’t pay rent, you can’t work (legally) and you can’t get money. It’s a vicious circle that keeps the down and outs, down and out.
I used the address of the hostel, I applied for Unemployment benefits and was able to claim. I used that money to live on (after paying out for food to the hostel, I had $24 a week) and to apply for jobs.
Eventually, someone hired me as a Security Guard. I was told by staff in the hostel that it would have been hard to get any other job, as they take one look at my address and toss my application in the trash. I started working as a Guard at a hospital in the city and when I did, the Government decided to kick me again because, now that I was working, I could no longer claim benefits.
I now had to pay the full fee to stay at the hostel. I was left with less money now that I was working, than I had had when leeching from the Government. The rates for staying where I was were so high, because of the type of people they have to deal with (most were drug addicts, some were on the run from the Paramilitary groups in the city and of course, the staff were always in danger - they deserved the money, even if it made my life hard). I also had to buy my own more expensive food (I was working 60 hours a week and missed the cheap-cost meals the hostel offered).
I saved what little money I could, and together with a man called John (who was - I estimate - in his 60’s and had just flown back to his home town of Belfast from Johannesburg), pooled our cash so we could move out and share a house in the outskirts of the city. It took a very long time to get the money together for the rent and the deposit, but we did it.
Things went well for a long time. I was eventually hired by the I.T. Department in the hospital and was making a really nice amount of money that thankfully was no longer gobbled up by my rent and bills. I even had enough money to fly back to England to see my family at Christmas, but it turns out that was a mistake…
When I returned to Belfast after the New Year, I found John passed out on the Sofa, the apartment stank of stale pee and there was blood on the walls (it was brown - and I knew it was him losing his stomach lining - as the same thing had happened to my elder brother when he had an ‘incident’ with alcohol). I managed to wake him up and he said he had fallen apart when he was by himself - it was then that he told me his son had died at Christmas one year earlier. I secretly called for an Ambulance (he didn’t want to go when I had asked him) and had him taken in for treatment while he was turning to me saying “how could you do this to me?”
I visited him in hospital and was prepared to have him back home, I had cleaned the place as best as I could and he moved back home. He was fine for a little while, but then I started to find (what I now know as) telltale signs of an Alcoholic creeping back into the apartment. I would find empty bottles of Vodka crudely hidden behind other objects and eventually, one day when I came home to him sleeping on the sofa smelling like he had peed himself along with more blood-stains, self-preservation instincts set in…
I called an Ambulance, had him taken in again, then started packing my things. It was now obvious to me the reason why this apparently former-successful businessman was in a homeless hostel and after talking to one of his friends in South Africa over the phone, I knew I had to leave or he was going to take me down with him - I couldn’t afford to make the rent by myself. I called the Landlord, made them aware of the situation and moved out.
I found somewhere else to live and did see John walking through the city a few months later - he had work clothes on, so hopefully he’s still going strong five years later. I eventually moved back to England, then in 2007 moved to the United States (and got married). I never claimed bankruptcy (although I have been told now that I would have been better off doing) and cleared the debts caused by my 2001 situation in 2006.
So, why did I tell you all this?
Yesterday I was on Lower Wacker St, directly under Chicago’s “Magnificent Mile”, when a man came up and asked me for money. I didn’t have any. I did, however, talk with the man for probably an hour, I told him everything I have just told you and he told me about his life too. It just seems so strange to me that above our heads there were people walking, spending thousands of dollars on things they don’t really need to survive and below, even below the gutter of Michigan Avenue, stood this homeless man, talking to another former homeless man from the other side of the world.
I could tell, because of how he looked, that this man didn’t have a drug problem or a drinking problem (I have seen enough to know now). He seemed fairly fit and healthy and much younger than his 42-years. He showed me that he is a college graduate and told me that he has two trades (one of which was woodworking/joinery - but I can’t remember the other). He told me that every-so-often a local project group supported by Mayor Daley will come down and give them blankets, but every Wednesday they have to hide them because the sanitation department throw them away again. He told me that every-so-often local project groups will come with food, and that relatives of some homeless people will come and give everyone food also.
The things that really stuck with me, were when he said about ‘bum-bashing’. He said that men (usually white) will come down the stairs from Michigan Avenue and beat up the homeless (usually black) - for the heck of it. When he told me that the men will come down there armed with everything from a baseball bat to a crossbow - I felt sick. One of the relatives who comes to give them food, is the father of a homeless man killed by a crossbow while he was sleeping.
He said that usually they’ll pool their money together, buy a bucket of Chicken and sit together to eat it… It usually takes quite a few donations for them to be able to afford enough food for everyone. That kind of made me feel good… These guys who have no family - have family.
On 17th September, 2007, that man I was speaking to will be let into the Chicago YMCA for three months (after being on the waiting list - and on the streets - for eight), I just hope he can find his way onto the Upper Streets - for good. The temperatures Chicago will see this Winter can kill, being out there on the streets at a time like that? I can’t even imagine…
