Homeless Voice; What We Learned

Homeless www.HomelessVoice.com “The voice of the homeless”

SPECIAL ISSUE

VOICE

PHOTO: STEPHANIE COLAIANNI

One is the founder and one is a resident, but the COSAC shelter wouldn’t have existed without them both ...

PHOTO: EMILY FUGGETTA

Volume 12, Issue 7

&

Sean

In Their Shoes: Two students spend an hour panhandling and posing as homeless people on the street. page 9

Johnny

Stories From the Streets: Students tag along with COSAC’s outreach team to help homeless without shelter. page 10

PAGE 4

Meet the King of Antarctica and His Roommates: A look inside COSAC’s rooms for the mentally ill. page 13

NOVEMBER 2010 | Page 2

Special Issue Staff Karla Bowsher Florida Atlantic University Stephanie Colaianni Florida Atlantic University Ashley Crane Palm Beach State College Katherine Emmets University of Florida Emily Fuggetta University of Florida Jessica Gillespie University of Central Florida Gideon Grudo Florida Atlantic University Ashley Hemmy University of Florida

What we learned in 36 hours at a homeless shelter ...

Over Labor Day weekend, 18 college journalists from around Florida and a few out-of-state schools visited the COSAC shelter in Hollywood, Fla. We got to know some of the shelter’s more than 150 residents — homeless that government shelters can’t handle or refuse to take. What we learned from them is in this special issue, which we put together in 36 hours.

Less than two weeks later, we sadly learned that shelter favorite Johnny McCormick died. He was the shelter’s first resident. Turn to page 4 to read more.

“He touched so many lives, and I hope he left knowing the impact he made — not just on the people living in the shelter, but also on so many others who got to meet him,” COSAC Founder/Director Sean Cononie said a few hours after McCormick died.

McCormick’s ashes are buried in the garden behind the shelter, which has now been renamed in his honor — the John McCormick Homeless Shelter.

Special thanks to the Society of Professional Journalists and the Florida College Press Association for funding this annual event.

Note: The content in this issue does not necessarily represent the views of the shelter or the views of its Founder/Director Sean Cononie.

MUCH MORE ONLINE

Caity Kauffman Florida Gulf Coast University Sarah Malhotra Eckerd College Jinna Marbry Kennesaw State University Catherine Meyer University of Northern Colorado Daylina Miller University of South Florida Hannah Mobarekeh University of Central Florida Andrew Pantazi University of Florida Carlos Sanz Lynn University Michael Slavin Lynn University Veronica Vela Florida Gulf Coast University *Special thanks to our copy editors Karla Bowser and Gideon Grudo ADVISERS Rachael Joyner Michele Boyet Dori Zinn Lyn Milner Michael Koretzky

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PHOTO: STEPHANIE COLAIANNI

Johnny

Johnny McCormick’s caretaker, Nicholas Davis — a fellow resident — sits by his side 12 hours a day.

Hallway instigator serves as inspiration for shelter

By Ashley Hemmy University of Florida Johnny curses at and insults everyone who passes him. He demands cigarettes and yellows, which is what he calls the Percocets he takes. He sleeps on a mattress in the hallway.

Yet everyone loves him.

Johnny McCormick, a 56-year-old man suffering from lung disease and hooked up to an oxygen tank, is the reason COSAC shelter exists.

A long history of chain smoking has led to chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD), which has left Johnny immobile and so thin that his skin stretches over his bones.

The walls of the second floor hall where he resides are taped with signs saying, “Johnny is to have no cigarettes. If you do you will be severly punished.” But residents can’t ignore their beloved Johnny’s demands, so he is alternating between oxygen mask and lit cigarette (but only after his oxygen is turned off). He is allowed about eight a day. The cigarettes he gets are a sort of lung therapy — a way to relax his lungs enough to exhale.

Sean Cononie, shelter founder/director, found Johnny sitting at a Walgreens bus stop in 1997 and took him in.

Johnny had been discharged from Memorial Regional Hospital after about 20 days, and no shelter would take him in.

A month later, the hospital discharged 40 more people who came to Sean for help.

He had a shelter.

“Johnny is the reason why we are all here,” Sean said.

During the early 2000s, Johnny used to run away from the shelter. Half the residents would go out in search parties to find him.

When Johnny is in the hospital, Sean attaches a Zoombak GPS to his wheelchair. Not too long ago, Johnny went off in his wheelchair and was found floors below his room.

During the eight years COSAC shelter has been located at 1203 N. Federal Highway, Johnny hasn’t escaped. Now he lies on his mattress and only NOVEMBER 2010 | Page 4

sits up to eat food or smoke a cigarette.

Nicholas Davis, a resident at the shelter, has watched over Johnny from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. every day for the past year and a half.

He has learned to work the oxygen tank and to give Johnny his medication. He also enjoys taking Johnny for a walk outside in his wheelchair.

“Gimme a cigarette,” Johnny shouts to Nicholas.

“This is serious.”

“You can’t have any cigarettes right now, man,” Nicholas tells him.

Johnny grimaces and turns away. “Stop screaming at me,” he mumbles. “You are going to hurt my base drum.”

Johnny goes back and forth from happiness to anger, and Nicholas gets the brunt of it.

“He has his moments,” Nicholas said. “But even when you are really mad at him, you can’t help but laugh.”

Recently, Nicholas brought his crying, upset wife by the shelter. Johnny sat up and grabbed her hand.

“Don’t be all emotional,” he told her.

“Don’t cry.”

And that’s why everyone loves Johnny so much.

“He’s Johnny,” Nicholas laughs. “He’s a man of many moods.”

Residents walking by shout Johnny’s name, give him high-fives and sneak him cigarettes. There is not one resident who doesn’t know Johnny’s name.

Vince Reynolds, a resident at the shelter, says that Johnny is a good friend.

“I like Johnny,” he said. “He don’t trouble nobody.”

The random sentences and jokes that come out of Johnny’s mouth leave everyone smiling.

“Bologna tastes so damn good,” Johnny said. “It’s so wild. It’s outta sight!”

Every resident says that Johnny is the shelter. And they love him, because he is Johnny. And that is explanation enough.

Artie Goncalves, a worker in the operations department, brings Johnny a bottle of Ensure chocolate shake. Johnny grabs it without a “thank you” and gulps down half.

“He’s a loveable person who comes out with

beautiful jokes,” Artie said. “He comes up with words I can’t even find in the dictionary.”

A large security guard walks by. Johnny sits up, rolls his eyes and points at Artie.

“Hey, get this guy out of here!”

The security guard laughs and asks, “Want me to call the police on him?”

Johnny gives him a look. “You can take care of him yourself,” he said. “Do your job right.”

Both Artie and the guard laugh at Johnny’s jokes.

Sean Cononie rides out from his office on his scooter and Johnny’s eyes brighten up.

“Hey Johnny, you being nice?”

“I don’t wanna talk to nobody,” Johnny said. “I don’t care.”

Sean smiles and stares at Johnny lovingly.

“You’re my sweetheart,” he said. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Johnny mumbles.

“I know you do, puppy.”

The relationship between Sean and Johnny is like father and son. Nothing happens with Johnny unless Sean hears about it first.

“I love Sean,” Johnny said. “He gives me my medication. And my cigarettes.”

Johnny is not only the reason for the shelter, he is the reason why Sean is still here.

Many times, Sean found himself sitting in his car, ready to quit and leave. As he starts his car, he sees Johnny in his wheelchair or lying on a couch.

“Johnny is my reminder,” Sean said. “He has prevented me from quitting lots of times.”

He calls Johnny his sweetheart, his love, his baby.

“My day is incomplete when I don’t see him.”

On Sept. 16, less than two weeks after this story was written, Johnny McCormick died at COSAC due to complications from chronic obstructive pulmonary disease.

See page 3 for details about how Cononie is honoring his friend.

PHOTO: EMILY FUGGETTA

Sean

Shelter security guard and medic Cliff Pieczarka checks Sean Cononie’s foot for swelling after he was hospitalized the night before.

By Katie Emmets University of Florida Sean Cononie has never been broke, homeless or drugaddicted. But for the past two and a half decades, he’s spent his days and his money on men and women who are broke, homeless and drug-addicted.

And it’s slowly killing him.

“He neglects himself by taking care of other people first,” said Mike O’hara, who has known Cononie for more than 30 years.

Currently, the 46-year-old founder of COSAC is riding around in a scooter chair and could potentially be doing so for 18 months.

While evacuating the building during a Sept. 3 fire, Cononie fell and tore his ACL while carrying shelterfavorite Johnny McCormick down the stairs. In the week following the incident, Cononie was in and out of the hospital twice in a 72-hour period.

But Cononie still runs the show.

After he was released from the hospital on Sept. 5, Cononie took a two-hour nap followed immediately by passing out shelter residents’ welfare check money in his busy, cluttered office.

“I’m mentally ill, believe it or not,” Cononie said.

“I’m compulsive. Anyone who works 18-hour days has to be.”

Cononie joked about his self-diagnosed compulsion, but he is constantly cracking his knuckles, filling his large cup with iced tea and more often than not, lighting a cigarette when two are already burning in the ashtray.

Although he finishes five packs of Marlboro cigarettes a day, Cononie said he doesn’t smoke as much as it sounds.

“I don’t ever smoke the whole cigarette,” he said.

“I’m just always wanting something to do. I only really smoke two packs a day.”

Those who have known Cononie best said his health started declining after getting bacterial meningitis in late 2003.

Cononie believes he contracted it through the air when COSAC volunteered in Haiti earlier that year.

Although he was sent home twice by a doctor who told him it was the flu, Cononie knew something was terribly wrong.

And he was right.

Shelter founder dedicates life and health to homeless

He fell into a coma that lasted about six days, which resulted in a pinched optic nerve — and double vision that lasted three months. Cononie still sees double when he’s overtired.

While in the coma, Cononie said he had “psychotic episodes with Haitian children and the Virgin Mary.”

“It could have been from the medication,” he said.

“They could have been angels or miracles. I’m a God kind of guy. I like God.” Cononie said he knows most people die from meningitis and that he too should be dead.

O’hara has known Cononie since seventh grade and serves as his right hand man. He said he is the only one that can be bluntly honest with Cononie about his health.

“He’s not going to be around to see his 50th birthday,” O’hara said. “And I told him I don’t want to be around to watch him kill himself.”

As most residents and staff of COSAC would agree, O’hara said Cononie has the biggest heart of anyone he’s ever met.

He got his start helping the homeless in high school — when he saw homeless men and women sitting on the sidewalk, he would drive them to Bennigan’s.

“When I was younger, my mom wouldn’t let us leave church until we put money in the poor people’s box so poor people and children could eat,” he said.

In 1997, Cononie stepped up his charity from giving meals to giving housing when he met Johnny McCormick.

McCormick was sitting at a bus stop on U.S. Route 441 and Johnson Street.

When he said he was homeless, Cononie drove him to the hospital and rented him an apartment.

“Johnny is the love of my life and I love him to death,” he said. “He is the reason this place exists.”

A month after taking McCormick in, Cononie was paying the rent for 40 homeless people.

“When I realized how big it had gotten, I thought ‘Oh my God, I need a staff,’ but they kind of formed their own staff,” he said. “They became a self-contained community. And I had someone there to take care of Johnny.”

Eight years ago, he decided he needed a larger space to house the Hollywood homeless and moved to the current location of 1203 N. Federal Highway.

In order to purchase the $1.3 million establishment,

which previously served as a hotel, Cononie used part of the $4.5 million he was awarded from injuring himself on the job when he worked in internal affairs for the Jack Eckerd Corporation.

Two separate incidents resulted in a shattered ankle, which required 17 reconstructive surgeries, and an injured back after a slip and fall.

There are more than 150 residents at COSAC and Cononie needs no notes to keep track of their statistics.

“I have everything in my head,” he said. “What meds they’re on, what their diagnoses are, what hospital they are in, where they need to go, their religion.”

Since recovering from meningitis, Cononie has gained about 60 pounds, O’hara said. Cononie now weighs 350 pounds.

But O’hara said there are no excuses.

COSAC Vice President Mark Targett came to Cononie when he was a young drug addict. Although he was never actually homeless, Cononie helped Targett get back on his feet and gave him a job. Cononie calls Targett his son, and always tells him he loves him when they are on the phone.

Targett has four kids, and therefore, Cononie has three granddaughters and a grandson.

“They call me Pap Pap,” he said as he watched a yellow-haired girl play on Skype.

O’hara said Cononie has told him several time that he would quit smoking cigarettes for the girls. But he hasn’t yet.

“It’s going to take something tragic to open his eyes,” O’hara said. “It’s hard to figure out how his mind really works.”

Cononie is very familiar with death, as he hangs pictures on the wall in the front office of all residents who have died. There have even been several suicides within the center walls.

Cononie doesn’t fear death for himself, though, O’ hara said.

His blood pressure is only a “teeny bit high” on occasion, and his doctor told him she can’t even tell he’s a smoker by looking at his lungs.

If Cononie does die, he has no doubt the shelter will continue to run smoothly with Targett at the helm.

“I’m not worried about it,” he said. “If I die, it’ll be all right.”

NOVEMBER 2010 | Page 5

COSAC’S CHURCH Come to the church that is a Church of Service and Charity Learn of Jesus & How to put God‛s words into action.

Sunday 8:30 pm - 9:30 pm 1203 N. Federal Highway Hollywood, FL 33020 954-924-3571 x316 * Free Weddings * Free Memorial Services * Alternatives to Abortion * Healing Services NOVEMBER 2010 | Page 6

PHOTOS: EMILY FUGGETTA

Brittany Naklicki and Prewlow Carpenter share a cluttered room with five other people — which makes it hard for the couple to find time alone.

Waiting for home Engaged couple struggles to save money, find private time

By Emily Fuggetta University of Florida Brittany Naklicki and Prewlow Carpenter met just over a year ago. She liked his smile, and he thought she was beautiful. But that’s where their resemblance to a conventional relationship ends.

Carpenter, 44, and Naklicki, 27, live at COSAC homeless shelter, where they share a roof with nearly 200 other people. Their room is just large enough to accommodate a dining set, a love seat, a few dressers and the three bunk beds where they — and five other shelter residents — sleep.

The couple’s roommates seldom give them space, and saving for their wedding means spending a night at a motel is usually out of the question.

“If anything, we have to chase everyone out of the room,” Naklicki said. “It’s hard keeping up a relationship in the shelter with everyone so close together.”

In eight months, Carpenter will get off probation and move out of the shelter. In the meantime, the two spend most of their time selling copies of the Homeless Voice.

Naklicki, who has diabetes, sells her papers at a courthouse in Hollywood, where other homeless people vie for customers, and there are days when she brings in less than the $15 she needs to pay her rent at the shelter.

When her rent is not waived, Carpenter, who sometimes brings in as much as $200 a day, often pays her rent when she can’t afford it.

“He looks out for me,“ Naklicki said. “He’s the reason I’m still here.”

He can tell when she needs to check her blood sugar by looking into her eyes.

She helps him navigate tight corners in his wheelchair while he recovers from knee surgery. He helped her get clean again when she relapsed into a pill addiction after a miscarriage. She promises to stay at the shelter while he serves the rest of his probation.

By then, they hope to have saved enough to get an apartment and move to North Carolina, where both their families live. But with some of their earnings going to the shelter for rent and Naklicki’s medical care, they find it hard to put much away.

“The only way we can get out of here is to get ahead,” Carpenter said. “And it’s a really, really tight budget.”

For now, they’ll make the best of the tight quarters, and when they save enough, they’ll start planning the wedding. So far, they have only one requirement.

“I’m Roman Catholic,” Naklicki said. “And we’re getting married in a Catholic church.”

‘‘ ’’

It’s hard keeping up a relationship in the shelter with everyone so close together.

– Brittany Naklicki NOVEMBER 2010 | Page 7

Homeless Voice vendor Ralph Monterrey isn’t homeless

PHOTOS: ASHLEY CRANE

Drive-by rejection

By Sarah Malhotra Eckerd College Every time the light at the Griffin Road and Federal Highway intersection turns red, he has roughly 10 to 15 seconds to attract the attention of as many drivers as possible. Ralph Monterrey, a 32-year-old Hollywood resident, has made his living selling the Homeless Voice for the past five years — but he is not homeless.

The Homeless Voice is typically sold by the residents of COSAC homeless shelter, but Monterrey is an exception. Working as a street vendor allows Monterrey to combine his marketing skills with humanitarian work — he makes a living and at the same time feels accomplished by selling the paper for the benefit of the residents.

As a teen Monterrey learned to vend when he needed work and Sean Cononie, the founder/director of COSAC, helped him out.

Residents of the homeless shelter are usually the only ones who actually sell the Homeless Voice. So why would a man who isn’t homeless spend his time this way?

“It’s fun and easy,” Monterrey says. He sees vending as a profession that takes time, dedication, and above all, patience.

Because of his experience and lack of residence in the shelter, Monterrey has been able to retain his street corner for five consecutive years. Usually residents of the shelter are rotated from corner to corner, but not Monterrey. People know him by name and sometimes even bring him a cold beverage.

Monterrey has a truly unique style when it comes to street vending.

He approaches his work as he would for any other profession — from a business standpoint. He has two main philosophies, one for dealing with customers, and one for dealing with how his customers view him. When dealing with customers, he becomes the mystical snake charmer while each of the drivers embodies an intimidating cobra. The customers can snap at you and bite your fingers, Monterrey says. “But if you play the flute, they’ll come out of the basket.”

As for how the customers view Monterrey, he believes they have gotten used to him being on the same street corner six days a week. Monterrey says getting familiar with him is comparable to “getting used to a pitbull.”

At first the customers act aggressively, but as time goes on, their general attitude changes to one of acceptance.

“I have to behave,” Monterrey says.

A recovering alcoholic and drug addict, Monterrey is now a proud member of Narcotics Anonymous but complains that it is more difficult to bring in money. When he was still drinking and using drugs, he was motivated to support his habit. Now he finds satisfaction through helping others instead of himself.

Working 10 hours a day, six days a week in unappealing conditions, Monterrey usually brings in a few hundred dollars a week, most of which goes toward paying his rent. At the end of a long day he goes home to his NOVEMBER 2010 | Page 8

young son, who has cerebral palsy. He often prays to God for strength through hard times.

The one thing that discourages Monterrey on the job is disrespect, especially with the risks involved. He respects the customers and expects their respect in return.

“This is a dangerous intersection,” says Monterrey, who was once hit by a car at this spot. When people ignore his sales pitch, pretend to talk on the phone, or suddenly blast their radios when he walks by, he tends to get annoyed.

“If they say no, it’s ok,” Monterrey says, but when they don’t even listen in the first place he feels frustrated.

By Andrew Pantazi University of Florida Six days a week, Ralph Monterrey can count on three things: seeing his son, watching his 30-inch flat-screen TV and ducking between traffic for 10-hour workdays.

For five years, Monterrey, 32, has walked the line between taking care of his finances and staying safe, and that line is at a crosswalk at the corner of S. Federal Highway & Griffin Road in Dania Beach.

He sells the Homeless Voice for donations to drivers who stop at red lights.

He keeps 60 percent of his revenue, which is usually about $100 to $200 a week.

One driver would give him money for every forty to fifty cars that drove past him on a Sunday during Labor Day weekend.

Hope, one of the drivers who didn’t give Monterrey any money, said that although he didn’t interrupt her commute, she didn’t like him approaching cars.

“It’s hard to get people to pay when there are cars stopped behind you,” she said through her window.

“I wish there was another way to buy the paper.”

Another driver, who didn’t give his name and didn’t pay Monterrey, said he doesn’t like people selling newspapers at red lights.

“They’re lane surfers,” he said while stopped at a red light. “They’re just sitting out in traffic all day.”

Monterrey is interrupting the man’s drive by approaching him and other drivers at red lights, he said.

Michael, another driver who didn’t buy a newspaper, said selling newspapers on the street corner isn’t a respectable job.

“If they want to do it, they’re welcome to it,” Michael said, but he added that this kind of work isn’t productive.

Another driver said selling newspapers “isn’t too bad.”

“Of course it’s a good thing they’re out here,” Kathleen said.

She said she didn’t buy a newspaper because she has another newspaper delivered.

But Monterrey shakes it off.

Sometimes he gets angry, but he said he treats the drivers like cobras. If you poke at a cobra, then the snake pierces you with venom. In his case, he stays patient and doesn’t curse at the drivers, although in the past, he cursed at a police officer after the cop didn’t buy a newspaper.

Monterrey buys four to five pairs of shoes a year – always Nike – because he walks amid stopped traffic for 60 hours a week.

“When I get down, I remember, ‘Just do it,’” he said.

His favorite shoes were a pair of Nike Air Max that he said felt like walking on clouds.

At the end of the day, it’s a good job, Monterrey said. The job is difficult and frustrating, but it’s better than dealing drugs, he added.

“I get a bit of a tan, make some money.”

Jessica Gillespie collects money while posing as a homeless person on the 17th Street Causeway.

PHOTOS: ASHLEY CRANE

Hannah Mobarekeh goes undercover, selling the Homeless Voice to Fort Lauderdale residents.

Homeless for a day On a hot and sticky Sunday afternoon, we dressed as homeless people and walked different medians on the 17th Street Causeway in Fort Lauderdale for a half hour. One of us vended issues of Homeless Voice while the other carried a sign — and we both made about $6.

By Hannah Mobarekeh University of Central Florida In 93-degree heat you don’t notice the sweat dripping down your forehead, or the worn-out Nike shoes weighing down your every step. You don’t pay attention to your fatigue or the dull thirst burning the back of your throat. What you do notice are the stares.

Surreptitious glances from expensive cars, pitying looks from moms in minivans, and embarrassed stares from beach-bound teens. I had always been the one doing the staring, but this time I was being stared at.

I felt like I was being judged by a thousand eyes, and I felt like I was worthless. Could you blame them? I was wearing an oversized Homeless Voice shirt and a highlighter-yellow vest and begging for money on a street corner.

I wasn’t expecting it to be easy, but I didn’t think people would be so rude.

As I claimed my spot on the median, a 40-year-old man in a beat up Toyota looked over at me with a mixture of fear and disgust.

A man in a red BMW offered me a wad of crumpled one dollar bills while hitting on me. A college student about my age stopped near “my median,” turned up her music, and avoided eye contact. Then there were the commonplace themes that recurred with nearly every car: windows rolled up, doors clicked locked, and strangers stared. While the reactions may have differed, the themes stayed constant: shame, curiosity and even fear.

There were a few bright spots in the sea of rude strangers. A middle-aged woman called me over to hand me a few dollars, saying some words of encouragement. A teenaged boy threw a handful of coins into my collection jar, telling me he would give more if he could have afforded it (provided he was being honest). These standout individuals were a nice change from the constant gawking.

From just thirty minutes undercover, I gained a world of knowledge. I threw myself into a situation that I thought I would never be in. The greatest lesson that I will take from this is to treat people as people. It’s better not to judge and just accept, because virtually everyone has the potential to be homeless.

The next time I see a homeless person begging on their median, I will not shoot them looks of pity or fear, but smile at them, give them some change and hope to make their day a little brighter.

By Jessica Gillespie University of Central Florida

It’s easy to cross the street and pace the median. It’s disheartening to see people in expensive cars roll up their windows. It’s daunting to reject offers from total strangers who want to take you to lunch. It’s overwhelming to be yelled at by people biking past. It’s exhausting to stumble along in the 93-degree weather and beg for anything, anything to help. It’s horrifying that this is a full-time job for homeless people all over Broward County.

I thought I was mentally prepared to play homeless. I didn’t realize I would feel so much.

When shelter staff and residents dressed me down, they told me I would be hit on, spit on, yelled at, and someone might throw rocks. What they didn’t tell me was how disheartened I would feel.

I looked grungy, grimy and disheveled in an oversized cotton dress that nearly covered my baggy cargo pants with drawstrings that hung to my ankles.

While it was difficult to make my clean and silky hair nappy enough, riding in the bed of a pick-up truck on the way to my median gave me the windblown, knotty volume I needed.

I was dropped off in a Burger King parking lot with a plastic cup for change, a cigarette tucked behind my ear, and an over-the-shoulder duffle overflowing with socks and bras. I was excited and I was trying not to laugh.

Half an hour later I was drenched in sweat and my head was exploding. I made $6.35 and it wasn’t easy.

When a man rolled down his window to bette r read my sign (“HOMLESS, OUT OF WORK, ANYTHING WILL HELP, GOD BLESS,” and yes, I misspelled homeless) and asked if I needed a home, I felt shame — the same shame residents at COSAC homeless shelter had shared with me.

After a woman handed me a few coins, a man rolled down his window and held out $2. I realized a few minutes later I had been counting the red lights — second, third, fifth. I had never noticed how long a red light usually lasted.

At one red light, two men in a minivan honked at me from three lanes away; he went out of his way to cross the three lanes and give me a few dollars. I couldn’t believe the humanity or my humility.

When another man asked if I wanted a sandwich, I felt scared. I stumbled over my response: “Thank you, but a man gave me a sandwich. You are kind.”

When I noticed his near disbelief, I pulled out my water bottle, took a swig and explained that I was also given water.

When I finally gave up with the back and forth and jumped into the pick-up truck again with the AC, I felt guilty.

Some people, mostly men, stopped and handed over a dollar, maybe two.

Most people turned to talk with their passenger or whipped out their cell phones or rolled up their windows. They drove away. To be honest, I’m guilty of the same actions. Now that I’ve walked a day in a homeless person’s shoes (not quite literally, since I wore my own), I won’t just drive away. I’ll roll down my own window. Like my sign said, anything will help.

NOVEMBER 2010 | Page 9

To see (and hear) more from the outreach team’s evening on the streets go to www.willwriteforfood2010.wordpress.com.

OUTREACH

Helping homeless on the streets

BELOW: Cindy was one of eight people who came back to COSAC with the shelter’s outreach team for a bed and hot meal.

RIGHT: Mina, who lives with her boyfriend underneath the Sheridan Street bridge, got her right ankle rebandaged by the outreach team’s registered nurse, George Dekeles. She said she was about to celebrate her 47th birthday.

Outreach leaves students looking in Four college journalists went on an outreach mission over Labor Day weekend. They spent two hours hanging out with homeless people on the streets. They heard stories they’ll never forget. Here are a few.

Story by Veronica Vela | Florida Gulf Coast University Photos and captions by Ashley Crane | Palm Beach State College Homeless people from all corners of the park were swarming the front of the ambulance, frantically grabbing for packs of Romy cigarettes. Chris Bombery, head of security at COSAC, was quickly doling them out while shouting, “Menthols or reds?”

COSAC homeless shelter sends out their disaster ambulance at least three times a week to encourage people to spend the night at the shelter instead of on a park bench or under a bridge. Armed with a security guard, a licensed mental health counselor and a registered nurse, the outreach team is prepared for any situation they might encounter on the streets of Hollywood, Fla. According to COSAC Founder/Director Sean Cononie, there is a great need for medical outreach to the local homeless.“There’s infections out there. People have high blood pressure and don’t know it. The whole nine yards.”

Although the outreach ambulance often roams the streets with medical care and basic food items, the number of people they bring back to the shelter fluctuates. Detective Danny Dunn, a 22-year veteran of the Hollywood police department, has been going on outreach with COSAC for almost three years. “There’s been times when we only bring in two or three [people],” Dunn says. “There’s been other times when we bring in half a dozen.”

On this particular excursion, the outreach ambulance had eight individuals from Stranahan Park join the crew and return to COSAC homeless shelter.

Forty-seven year old Joyce, who has been homeless for more than a year, chose to go to the shelter with the team because of the appeal of television, air conditioning, a hot shower and a safe place to sleep. Joyce was stabbed in the stomach one night while she was in the streets.

“I’m looking forward to a good night’s sleep with ease,” she said.

TOP: Seconds after the outreach team pulls up to Stranahan park in Fort Lauderdale, a homeless crowd came running to the ambulance that supplied them with a shipment of free cigarettes. The COSAC outreach team regularly passes out water, coffee, blankets, cigarettes and clothes, in addition to providing medical care. ABOVE: A dryer sheet covered with a smeared, hand-written will is clenched between the hands of Yvette Tucholski-Dekeles, the team’s licensed metal health counselor. Former COSAC resident Gus trusted his unconventional last wishes to Tucholski-Dekeles and her husband, George, the team’s registered nurse.

When Gus died, the couple took the handmade document to court and his wishes were met: $30,000 were donated to Broward College and muscular dystrophy research.

LEFT: “Forty-five years young,” Sidney is a Desert Storm war veteran – and a male stripper and father. ABOVE: Garett, an aspiring author, is a frequent face at Stranahan Park. When asked about his experiences on the streets, he said, “I’ve been very jaded. I’ve seen so much. There’s no delete button. I can’t forget, and if I do, it’ll come back with a vengeance.”

NOVEMBER 2010 | Page 11

Former basketball pro had everything but took a ‘wrong turn’

PHOTO: STEPHANIE COLAIANNI

From fame to misfortune Bottom: Horace Brawley holds a photo of himself as a college basketball player in the ’70s.

By Carlos Sanz Lynn University Horace Brawley was an All-American captain of the University of Buffalo’s men’s basketball team from 1971 to 1974. He was then drafted by the NBA and played professional ball in Europe for several years.

Now, he is 58 years old, and for the last seven months he has been living at COSAC, a homeless shelter in Hollywood, Fla. A star of the Malvern High School basketball team in New York, Brawley graduated in 1970 and was offered a full athletic scholarship to the university.

“I was a real jock,” Brawley said of his four years at Buffalo. “I had everything given to me, and I was living an unbelievable life in my early 20s.”

After earning his bachelor’s degree in business administration, he went to Barcelona, Spain, to play for a team in the International Basketball Association.

In the five years he spent with the team, Brawley traveled to a handful of countries, including Israel, France, Italy, Iceland and Holland. He said he enjoyed the “dream life,” living in a seaside villa in Barcelona with VIP access to special events like bullfighting.

Soon after he retired from professional basketball, he moved back home to Lakeland, N.Y., eventually deciding to move to Florida in 1980, persuaded by a high school friend.

Brawley lived a “normal” life for 10 years as a sales representative with Gold Coast Chemical Products, selling industrial products to Fortune 500 companies.

Although he “excelled” at his job, he said there was something missing, so he started using drugs and drinking alcohol.

“One wrong turn is all it takes for your life to fall apart,” he said. “I started hanging out with the wrong people in wrong places and doing the wrong things. My life became unmanageable and I couldn’t tell. I was in denial.”

Despite help from friends, Brawley lost his job and admitted he was carelessly roaming from rehabilitation centers to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings.

Brawley said he lost his friends, his relationships and himself.

“I felt like everything I was doing was meant to please everybody else but myself.”

Brawley said he was arrested for cocaine possession and incarcerated for a few years. It was a rough time, he said.

“I broke the law and had to pay the consequences.”

All hope was lost for Brawley, but while in prison, he had time to reflect.

“I still had time to think and reflect on my life.

I came to grips with my situation when I hit my bottom. I grew up incarcerated, building myself from the inside out.”

After being released from jail, Brawley was determined to turn his life around.

“Not many people get second chances after prison,” he said.

Eli Finkleberg, Brawley’s old boss at Gold Coast Chemical, decided to step up and gave him the chance to start his life again, offering him a full-time job.

“I was fortunate to have a gentleman give me a second chance,” Brawley said. “He is not only a good boss but also a friend and a mentor. I will always owe him.”

NOVEMBER 2010 | Page 12

As a result, Brawley’s life has entirely changed.

He now attends Alcoholics Anonymous meetings twice a week. In addition, he enjoys helping people and letting them know he understands what they’ve been through.

Brawley now feels like “Horace Brawley, the jock,” again. He has a loving family, a good job, new friends and, most importantly, a renewed attitude.

For the first time in a decade he has future plans: renting an apartment, buying a car and leaving his troubled past behind.

He is also an inspiration to residents at the shelter.

“He has gone a long way. It is inspiring to see somebody work so hard, save money and have goals,” Ramona Montayne said. “He never moans or feels sorry about himself.”

As Sean Cononie, the shelter’s founder/director, pointed out, “Homelessness can happen to anyone.

People are lucky to have a roof they can sleep under.

These people should not be stereotyped. It is easier to judge people than to take the time to understand their circumstances.”

Brawley’s life took a wrong turn, and he is now homeless. But he still has his dreams and his story to tell.

“The whole time I knew it was not my life; I knew God hadn’t planned this for me,” Brawley said. “I have to thank my wonderful family that was always a source of support, but I also have to thank myself. If I hadn’t believed in myself and hadn’t fought from within, I would have never made it through.”

‘‘

One wrong turn is all it takes for your life to fall apart.

I started hanging out with the wrong people in wrong places and doing the wrong things.

’’

– Horace Brawley

‘SAFE HAVEN’

COSAC offers more than just shelter to mentally ill

Howard will only talk if cigarettes are involved.

Daniel is the king of Antarctica and about to travel back in time.

Randy claims Howard, Daniel and their other roommates rape and beat him every night and sometimes shove feces in his mouth.

All of these COSAC residents live in Room 221.

Most of the men who stay in this 10-person room have been diagnosed with both a mental health condition and a substance-abuse problem, according to a licensed mental health counselor who works for the shelter.

“No other shelter would take them,” Yvette Tucholski-Dekeles said. “A lot of these clients are the clients that fall through the cracks of the system.”

Despite disorders like Daniel’s and Randy’s schizophrenia, these clients get more than a roof over their head at COSAC. The staff provides medication, some semblance of structure, and a room where they can be themselves.

“It’s a safe haven,” COSAC Founder/Director Sean Cononie said of Room 221. “They can really be themselves without being afraid of being hurt by other people.”

Cononie adds that every time a resident makes an accusation of a rape, the shelter staff has to investigate to see if it is true or not. “For the last three years, every time Randy has stated he was raped, he was not. It was just his delusional behavior.”

The shelter also helps them obtain their medications, either through disability insurance or pro bono doctors.

At the same time, COSAC treats these residents — and their female counterparts in Room 220 — like everyone else.

The shelter’s residents have to pay to sleep in a room like other residents, Tucholski-Dekeles said. Most of them pay for it out of their disability check or by selling newspapers in the streets. If residents can’t or don’t want to vend, they can pay by helping with housekeeping or maintenance, for example.

Above: Randy, 37, suffers from schizophrenia and has been in the mental health care system since he was 8, according to COSAC’s licensed mental health counselor. Right: Daniel, who also has schizophrenia, claims he is the director of the FBI and ruler of a continent.

“They have to do something,” she said.

They also have to follow rules.

According to Christine Jordan, a staff member who works at the front desk, they are put on “lockdown” and not allowed to leave the shelter if caught smoking indoors, drinking or doing drugs.

When they get into trouble outside of the shelter, however, Tucholski-Dekeles advocates for them. When clients get arrested and end up in court, she creates a treatment plan for their release.

According to Tucholski-Dekeles and Cononie, the extra attention they pay to the residents in Rooms 221 and 220 pays off.

Earlier this year, Daniel showed up at COSAC looking for a place to stay. He was psychotic and very paranoid, Tucholski-Dekeles said, and only stayed one night before leaving.

At the beginning of the summer, COSAC’s street outreach team picked him up and brought him back to the shelter.

“I’ve never really seen someone that disillusioned in

my life,” Cononie said of the 25-year-old.

Daniel wasn’t taking his medications for his schizophrenia, Tucholski-Dekeles said.

She recently got him back on them, though.

He still believes he’s the king of Antarctica — and now also heads the FBI — but he has already improved.

According to Tucholski-Dekeles, Daniel’s thoughts are clearer and he’s more agreeable.

“He’s not as far out as he was a month ago,” Cononie agreed. “He’ll get better as time goes on.”

Nikki, a former shelter resident, has already gotten better. After spending a month at COSAC this summer, she recently moved into a COSAC-owned halfway house.

The 43-year-old said she showed up at the shelter when she was ready to get sober after abusing crack and painkillers for more than 30 years. Nikki left her apartment because her roommate refused to give up crack with her.

She also suffers from schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, seizures and asthma, all of which she takes medication for. She’s also a recovering cutter who used objects like razor blades, steak knives and broken bottles to cut her arms, thighs and chest.

“I’m very self-destructive. I’m a very angry person,” she said. “I became very angry at myself.”

Still, Cononie saw hope in her.

“You have to have a strong inner self to cut yourself like that,” he said of the scars on her forearms.

On Nikki’s second day at COSAC, Cononie hired her as a staff member. Having worked in restaurants her whole life, she helped heat and serve food in the kitchen.

After a month at the shelter, Cononie hired her to run a nearby halfway house, where she now lives and oversees recovering alcoholics and drug addicts.

Keeping busy helps her stay sober, she said, and she’s less likely to cut herself when she’s sober. Her newfound responsibility also gives her more reason to continue taking her medications.

“I can’t let them see my moods fluctuate,” she said.

“People are depending on me.”

PHOTOS: STEPHANIE COLAIANNI

Karla Bowsher Florida Atlantic University

NOVEMBER 2010 | Page 13

PHOTO: JINNA MARBRY

A tale of two shelters

For Ellen, a prostitute from the streets, this bed represents a safe place to sleep. But she didn’t feel safe being photographed and was even reluctant to be interviewed.

Finding peace on the street

Everyone is very friendly with Ellen, but not for the reasons you would think Jinna Marbry Kennesaw State University As we walked hurriedly down Federal Highway, Ellen calmly turned to me and said, “You don’t want to be seen walking with me. They’ll think you’re a hooker.”

Ellen, a 45-year-old slender, vivacious brunette and mother to two grown children is a prostitute.

Having been on the streets for four years, Ellen found herself homeless when she stole a roommate’s debit card to support a ravenous drug habit. There’s no holding back when it comes to speaking with Ellen, the strong-willed lady who has seen and done just about everything.

“Sometimes you have no control over it, sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do, you know?”

Ellen has worked the cruel streets, namely Federal Highway, lying on park benches and alleyways when she sleeps. Once Ellen was caught off guard when she fell asleep in a construction dumpster below an office building and someone kicked in the door, thinking she was a dead body.

For Ellen there is no peace on the streets; you have to keep moving. Lack of sleep is more the norm. Having to stay alert, Ellen says she has stayed up for more than nine days with druginduced insomnia.

Yet what set Ellen on her path of danger is what chills you to the bone when you look into her deep brown eyes that lack hope.

“The first time was a one night stand. When I awoke the next morning there was a $100 bill on the table. “I thought to myself, damn this wasn’t so hard. It’s better than giving it away.”

Since her first time, however, Ellen has endured many hard lessons on the streets. One unsatisified customer once held a gun to her head. Another time she had to fight her way away from a rapist by jumping from a moving car.

Despite the risks, the money is a huge temptation for Ellen to feed her crack cocaine habit. When asked how much she makes on the streets, Ellen hints, “Let’s just say this I make enough to support a $300 to $400 a day habit.”

Still, there are guidelines even for Ellen. She prefers to be with men “over 60.” Ellen feels NOVEMBER 2010 | Page 14

they aren’t prone to physical abuse and have the money to pay for her services.

The physical dangers of Ellen’s lifestyle are undeniable, yet there are other challenges that chip away at her spirit. More than once Ellen’s client requests have sprinted over the line of selfdegradation.

Ellen coyly tells of how one client paid her $100 to let him urinate on her, and another offered to pay her to have sexual intercourse with his wife while he watched. But Ellen’s strangest request in her mind was when a young man paid her $20 to call his girlfriend and pretend to be having sex with him while on the phone with her.

In the end the choice is Ellen’s. She doesn’t have a pimp, but she does have friends who help her keep away from trouble and the law. But the harsh consequences of Ellen’s street work cannot be hidden in the glaring morning light. Recently, another female prostitute was found in a dumpster, a victim of the violence that is a haunting reminder of the daily dangers for prostitutes.

For Ellen, however, hope comes in the form of a “white knight” named Sean Cononie, the founder/ director of COSAC shelter.

“Chances are rough, but Ellen is doing good,” Cononie says. “I would really like to see her in a house instead of being found dead in a refrigerator somewhere.”

Ellen has been at COSAC for just a few weeks, literally coaxed off the streets by Cononie.

“Sean’s amazing. He is the only person who never wanted anything from me. He gives me clothes, a place to sleep.” In a sea of faces that pursue her for drugs, sex or literally the shirt off her back, Ellen says she has found peace in a place she can call home.

Just two weeks ago Ellen was finishing up a 32day stint in jail for prostitution when Cononie finally convinced her it was time to come home to COSAC. At the shelter, Ellen is encouraged to find legal work and has been put on a 60-day restriction from hooking. COSAC provides Ellen with a clean bed and clothing while allowing her to safely rest from the constant looking over her shoulder. Here Ellen can dare to pursue her dream of culinary school.

“It’s all about taking it one day at a time.”

Ellen’s words of advice for the next generation: “Don’t do it” — prostitution is not worth it.

Dressed in my own clothes, I tried to spend the night in a homeless shelter and they said no.

When I walked into the government-run Broward Outreach Center, the place smelled like a hospital and looked like a retirement home. There was a room to my right, which was filled with bunk beds, and most of them were full.

In front of me was a middle-aged man talking to an old guy at a well-organized counter. Behind the counter was a wooden spiral staircase, while to the left was a small waiting room with a few chairs.

The middle-aged man asked what I wanted.

“A bed for night and a hot meal,” I replied.

He then directed me to the old man, to whom I repeated my request. His response was shocking and enraged me: “Come back at 3 o’clock.”

Less than a mile away, at COSAC shelter, I knew I would be greeted with open arms and smiles.

While the Broward shelter does not take anyone till 3 o’clock, COSAC will take almost anybody 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

“I think it sucks because Broward County has not developed emergency shelters,” said Sean Cononie, COSAC’s founder/ director. “Not one shelter in Broward County, except this one, is 24/7.”

At the front desk of the COSAC shelter, I met a woman named Dee Davis.

Unlike the old man at the Broward Outreach Center, Davis wasn’t just the receptionist but also a resident of the shelter.

Davis greeted me with a smile, “Hi honey, how may I help you?”

Another difference between the two shelters is that while the Broward shelter is clean and organized, the front desk at COSAC is utter chaos — but controlled chaos.

Davis’ workspace and computer are engulfed in a sea of papers. The smell is also different: while the Broward shelter smells sterile, COSAC smells like urine, throw up and cigarette smoke (because they take people right off the street).

The most striking differences in these shelters are the intake procedures. The Broward shelter is selective, with tons of rules, and COSAC will take just about anyone.

After attempting to enter as a homeless person, I tried to get information at the Broward Outreach Center as a journalist. I was shut down once again.

Not only does the Broward shelter not admit anyone before 3 p.m., all homeless people must have proof that they are Broward County residents, which I am not. In most cases, you also have to be referred to the shelter by a bank or hospital — in what seemed to me a pretty complicated process.

At COSAC, you have the choice between spending the night and staying for a meal. If a homeless person wants to spend the night, they just have to watch a quick video and agree to some rules. After three or four nights, they must join the program and start paying rent, often by selling newspapers.

Though both shelters are trying to help people in need, they have drastically different ways in which they operate. In my short “homeless” experience, it seems like the COSAC shelter cares more about the homeless people; it treats them like family.

But hey, what do I know? The Broward Outreach Center wouldn’t even give me a chance.

PHOTO: ASHLEY CRANE

By Mike Slavin Lynn University

PHOTO: DAYLINA MILLER Peggy Walters looks at a photo of her fiancé, who passed away in February.

His photo hangs in the lobby of COSAC shelter.

A fond remembrance

When homeless die, shelter and county pay for burial

By Daylina Miller University of South Florida When Peggy Walters’ fiancé died earlier this year, she was devastated. In the weeks that followed, she received cards and acknowledgements from friends, sympathizing with her loss.

A memorial service was planned for James Allen, an alcoholic-turned-lover, and all their friends were invited. Months later, tears still well up in the inner corners of Walters’ eyes as she recounts her two short years with him and the heartache of his death.

Walters is homeless and Allen was, too. In fact, they met at the shelter that financed the memorial service Walters would have never been able to pay for.

COSAC in Hollywood, Fla., is a unique homeless shelter that helps its residents pay for memorial services and share stories about their life in the shelter’s newspaper, the Homeless Voice.

“Just about everybody here showed up at the funeral,” Walters said. “Everybody knew him. He served breakfast, lunch and dinner at the shelter. Everyone would line up, and his policy was women eat first.”

Allen spent long days in his room, nursing the bottle. Walters said he was a mean drunk and that the shelter’s residents were not given the chance to see his kindness through the alcoholism.

But shortly after she arrived, down on her luck, he ventured out of his room to talk to her. As they got closer, he quit drinking.

“I told him to make up his mind,” Walters said. “‘You want the bottle or you want me?’ He chose me.”

When Allen died from a heart attack in February, Walters struggled not only through the grieving process but through the lackadaisical way in which authorities handled his death.

“Because he was at a homeless shelter, he was put on the backburner,” Walters said. “Because I wasn’t married to him, I couldn’t go and demand anything.

It was frustrating.”

Walters said it took more than two months to get the autopsy report and toxicology results back. She feels that the homeless are lower on the priority list at the medical examiner’s office because of the social stigma attached to living on the street and in shelters.

COSAC Director/Founder Sean Cononie said that about 20 funerals have been held at the shelter. Sometimes families of the deceased cover all the costs, but usually they are covered by Medicare and Medicaid or absorbed by Broward County.

Cononie does what he can to ensure that individuals at the shelter are given a respectful death. Terminally ill residents of the shelter are sometimes housed in a makeshift hospice, normally Cononie’s bedroom and office at the shelter, so they can die surrounded by friends.

Memorials are organized with the person’s religious beliefs in mind. Cononie recently oversaw a Jewish service and contacted Hatzalah to ensure that the bodies were treated according to proper customs.

“We’re a Christian agency but we never step on the beliefs of anyone else,” Cononie said.

Walters, a Paiute Native American, believes that when someone dies, his spirit lingers in the physical world to see what everyone has to say about him, “good, bad or indifferent,” Walters said. Unless the space where a person died is respected and prayers are said, one could accidentally cause the person’s spirit to become earthbound.

Though Walters misses Allen, she is happy that he is with the “Great Father” now. The blood clots in his legs are gone and his memory — which kept him from remembering her name — has been restored.

COSAC Memorial Services Services are held on Sundays for church-goers, and ministers like Ronald Simmons, himself a resident at the homeless shelter, are asked to attend memorial services at COSAC to do an opening prayer, give a eulogy or even to sing. In a soft tenor voice,

Simmons sang “Amazing Grace” with goosebumpinducing sweetness.

Bonds are forged here and, like or not, said Walters, COSAC residents become your family and friends.

“When residents pass away here, it takes a big chunk out of the friendship,” Simmons said. “The people who live here bond together.”

Law enforcement’s role When a homeless person dies on the street, it becomes the responsibility of law enforcement officers to investigate the death.

“Our agency will come out and do a thorough investigation to see if it was foul play or natural death,” said Detective Danny Dunn of Hollywood Police Department. “We’ll recover the body, do an autopsy if it needs to be done and do 100 percent of what we can do to contact the family about their loved one.”

When family members are located, it becomes their responsibility to cover cremation and burial costs. When there is no next of kin, the responsibility falls on the medical examiner’s office. Those individuals are typically cremated or buried in pauper’s graves, Cononie said.

According to the website of Fred Hunters, a local funeral service provider, there are veteran, union and other organizational benefits to pay for funerals.

Most funeral directors are aware of different benefits and how to obtain them for the impoverished. However, directors sometimes absorb costs beyond what is given by agencies to make sure the dead get a respectable burial.

“A lot of people out there are hard on their luck.

Their family turned their backs on them, they’re into drugs and alcohol — any number of reasons,” said Dunn, who works with COSAC’s outreach team to provide hot beverages, food and blankets to homeless people living in the streets of Hollywood. “But there is a high percentage of families we’re able to locate who can come out and do what they need to do.

NOVEMBER 2010 | Page 15

At COSAC homeless shelter, dignity costs $50.

Eating food in the bedrooms, bringing in alcohol and drugs, or just disrespecting others can mean a $50 fine, in addition to another threat of being moved from the upstairs rooms to the downstairs cafeteria.

Fliers announce the potential punishment throughout the shelter.

The truth is, residents don’t get fined unless they have three strikes, according to Chris Bombery, head of security.

“It’s mostly just to scare them,” he said.

“It works for some and not for others.”

If a resident is caught bringing in drugs or alcohol, then that can put Bombery over the edge.

He said a lot of the residents are trying to rehabilitate, so the shelter cannot allow people to live here if they’re bringing in alcohol and drugs.

Sometimes residents need punishments that are specially designed for them to be effective, he said. Resident Leonard J., who suffers from schizophrenia, breaks the rules and doesn’t listen to anyone, according to Bombery.

Leonard has been at the shelter for about seven years.

Taking his allowance or sending him

downstairs to sleep in the cafeteria, as opposed to sleeping in his room, usually doesn’t work.

Only taking his bike works.

Sean Cononie, the shelter’s founder/ director, called Leonard a pain in the butt. But Leonard usually calms down after Cononie takes away the bike he lets him use.

The bike is a reward, Cononie said, for Leonard’s good behavior.

Leonard has had his bike taken away from him off and on for about three months, Cononie said.

“He don’t like to obey the rules,” Bombery dded.

Leonard sleeps in Room 221, which is reserved for people suffering from mental or social disorders. Bombery said almost every time, the chaos they can cause makes it not worth sending them to the cafeteria as a punishment.

For other residents, Bombery will send them to the cafeteria for a few hours before letting them back in the room.

It’s more of a scare tactic. And it happens about once a week.

Money is important to a lot of residents, so taking their allowance can make them behave quickly, Bombery said.

After a few days of behaving well, he said he usually returns the allowance.

PHOTO: STEPHANIE COLAIANNI

By Andrew Pantazi University of Florida

Don’t do the crime if you can’t pay

the fine

Text

GiveLove to 85944

YES

and reply to help us provide shelter...

A $10 donation will be deducted from your phone bill... *Does not work with Metro PCS

NOVEMBER 2010 | Page 16

GIVELOVE

PHOTO: EMILY FUGGETTA

Stay sheltered Sean Cononie expects three things from his residents if they want to stay.

1

Stick to the rules Different rules apply to different residents or vendors. Some face a curfew, while others cannot leave the shelter. Whatever your specific set of rules is, stick to it. The shelter cannot afford to cater to people who don’t want to be there.

2

Support your team The daily average at COSAC determines how much money a vendor is expected to bring in that day. It is a simple average of all the different amounts brought in by different vendors. According to Jenny Dangola, who deals with the finances of residents at COSAC, customers who buy the newspaper are more liable to buy on certain days of the week and less so on others. l Thursday/Friday – These are paydays, and customers have more money on hand, which usually makes for a high daily average, between $80 and $100. l Saturday/Sunday – These are shopping days, and many customers are on their way to or from stores, which makes for a high daily average, between $70 and $80. l Monday-Wednesday – Having spent their money during the weekend, customers are “broke,” Dangola said, and the daily average drops to between $30 and $50.

Sean Cononie counts money in his locked office on the second floor of his shelter. He later gives the money to clients for their weekly allowance.

3

Try your hardest Sean Cononie said that he understands not all vendors sell well. But the customers, he said, “expect us to work hard. I get calls sometimes telling me a vendor is sleeping or talking on a phone.” If vendors show commitment and dedication, Cononie would consider moving them to a different job, like kitchen work or maintenance.

A broke break-down COSAC director rules vendors with a forgiving fist

By Gideon Grudo Florida Atlantic University On a recent Sunday afternoon, Edward Benway was kicked out of COSAC for abusing prescription painkillers, even though the shelter staff admitted it wasn’t the only reason.

The real reason Benway was discharged: A fellow resident had accused him of stealing. COSAC security chief Chris Bombery would rather lie to Benway about drugs than tell him the truth about stealing.

“A lot of people do drugs, so we tell them that,” Bombery said. “Their money is basically their pride. It can bring back their life. It can get them back to reality.”

He wouldn’t even say the amount of money involved.

In the past, scuffles broke out when residents were accused of stealing. So when someone gets thrown out for stealing, they’re not told the true reason.

After Benway was kicked out, he waited outside the door for his food stamp card.

He explained that the shelter takes the homeless in to exploit their financial dependence.

“All they do is use people. It’s all they do,” said Benway, adding, “They don’t give people a chance to make it on their own.”

Bombery dismissed this sentiment.

“If you get discharged and badmouth COSAC, nine out of 10 times, you’re guilty,” he said.

The shelter has a zero-tolerance policy when it comes to stealing.

As of Sept. 5, the day of his discharge, Benway had been a resident for two weeks. He didn’t do well as a vendor, selling the shelter’s newspaper on the streets of Hollywood. He said he “just wasn’t a people-person.”

As an alternative to vending, Benway was put in the kitchen, where he started off as a dishwasher and worked his way up to a server.

Benway said he was paid $50 a week for his work, the rest of his earnings going

toward his $15 a night room fee.

Everything was going great — until someone accused Benway of stealing.

“We told him we noticed that one of the staff was missing money,” Bombery said. “Someone he knows, someone close.”

Pacing back and forth on the sidewalk in front of the shelter, Benway was questioning his verdict.

“Now I’m getting thrown out for what? Something someone said?” he asked.

Benway doesn’t know who incriminated him, and Bombery wouldn’t divulge the information for the person’s protection, but this nameless person is the reason Benway is homeless — again.

“I don’t feel like I did anything wrong,” said Benway of the narcotics found in his blood during a morning drug test. “I took one Percocet. I told them I did.

Just one Percocet.”

According to Sean Cononie, the founder/director of COSAC, there is more to the story than that.

“The better you strive, the more you get,” he said, explaining that vendors are treated fairly, getting paid on a “sliding scale.”

The general daily fee that vendors pay to remain residents at COSAC is $18, and this fee pays for room, food and security, according to Cononie.

But if a vendor doesn’t bring in any money only once or twice, the daily fee is waived, and if the vendor brings in less than usual, the fee is lessened.

The rooms that are rented are a set of hotel-like units on the second floor of the shelter. Each room is shared by four or five vendors.

If a vendor is consistently disrespectful or unproductive, they are sent to sleep in the first-floor cafeteria. If their behavior doesn’t improve, they are sent to sleep on the outside patio, where smokers spend their downtime. And if a vendor cannot make it there, they get kicked out, or discharged, like Benway was.

Vendors get a 60 percent cut after a day’s work of selling the Homesless Voice on the street. The shelter takes the rest. Vendors pay the daily fee out of their cut. The remainder is theirs to keep.

For those who use their social security check toward their rent, the daily fee is consistently lower than $18.

“For example,” Cononie explained, “If you give us your [social security] check and it’s $400 a month, your daily fee is just $4.”

And some vendors have daily fees that never change, like Ralph Monterrery, who doesn’t live at the shelter, but simply works for COSAC. “This is actual work. It’s hands-on, like McDonald’s,” said Monterrey, who works six days a week, from 6 a.m. to 4 p.m., earning $50 to $60 a day.

He advised vendors to push, but not too hard.

“Work hard, get into the traffic, but don’t get hit.

Say something like, ‘Hey, wanna get a paper?’ If they say no, don’t say curse.” Monterrey said, adding, “Treat the customers like a pitbull. It will treat you nice if you treat it nice, but it will turn on you if you’re nasty.”

Jenny Dangola is a COSAC staff member who handles residents’ finances. She explained that even though a vendor might only bring in a small amount today, it evens out because they make more another day (see above). The shelter’s system offers a cushion other jobs may not offer.

“In the real world,” Dangola said, “if you’re just gonna sit there, you’ll get evicted or fired.”

As Dangola finished her sentence, a vendor walked in and slapped on the table the puny $15 she’d made that day. Dangola took it and gave the lady a fistful of dollars back along with a pack of cigarettes.

At that moment, Sean Cononie, who was present, used the transaction as an example of how COSAC works when a vendor doesn’t bring in the daily average, which was $43 that day.

“She’ll get her money and some cigarettes, and she gets to stay in her room tonight,” he said. “But, she doesn’t cause problems, either.”

“I believe in capitalism,” Cononie raised his voice and straightened his back. “The more you put in, the more you get out.”

NOVEMBER 2010 | Page 17

NOVEMBER 2010 | Page 18

PHOTOS: ASHLEY CRANE

Kitchen manager Richard Carlish takes a break from preparing more than 100 burritos for dinner.

Richard Carlish: A screenwriter who works in the kitchen

By Catherine Meyer University of Northern Colorado The mozzarella and cheddar-cheese is sprinkled on the chicken already placed in flour tortillas.

A sweet-and-sour stir-fry serves as a side. The carrots and asparagus are donated by local hospitals.

Tonight, the chicken and cheese burritos will serve as the entrée for dinner. The hands of an author and aspiring screenwriter Richard Carlish prepare this dinner and all other meals of the day six days a week at COSAC, a private homeless shelter in Hollywood.

His journey to this kitchen was not short.

As a young child, Carlish spent a lot of time in the kitchen of a family friend’s restaurant, and he never stopped cooking. He attended the University of Connecticut for business and worked in independent restaurants and nightclubs in New Jersey.

Carlish says he takes pride in doing things properly, and once the restaurants stopped caring about doing that, he took his aspirations elsewhere. With 20 years of experience in hand, he wrote a book based on his work in the restaurant business.

He moved to Florida in pursuit of a job, but when it became too difficult to pay the bills, he found

the shelter. Now he works as COSAC’s kitchen manager.

The kitchen is like any other restaurant, with loud noises and delightful aromas, but there is one difference: It feeds about 150 homeless people a meal.

Carlish says cooking is only a hobby; his passion lies elsewhere — in his screenplays. He says he credits his ambitious drive and his life motto to his father.

“Only associate with people who could do you good, never with people who could bring you down.”

His work at the shelter is hopefully temporary, he said.

“I want so much more out of life,” he said. “My dream is to see my name on the big screen.”

He works at the shelter waiting for the next job, which could be a motion picture.

Working full time only leaves one day for his writing.

Monday is his time away from COSAC, which means time to write. He writes from the time he gets his coffee at Dunkin Donuts until he goes to bed, Carlish says. Because he keeps his computer next to bed, he can type up his ideas if inspiration comes at night.

Inspirations for his screenplays and books vary from dreams to just ideas that hit him.

His screenplay, Writer’s Block, is just an idea he had. It took two years to accomplish and follows the lives of four comedy writers at a TV station. Carlish says he submitted the screenplay and it’s garnered some interest. Now he is waiting for word on the next step of this project.

Carlish’s books, Restaurants: It’s a Dirty Business and The Carlish Dating Diet — a men’s guide to impressing women with food and home décor — are available on Amazon. Restaurants is a handbook to educate people about the dangers of poor food handling and other risks associated with eating out. Carlish says he sells about two books a month.

He pulls out a “pretty” royalty check for $2.07.

“I didn’t write it to make money,” he said of Restaurants. “ I wrote it to save lives.”

http://HomelessVoice.org/podcast http://HomelessVoice.org/podcast

Podcasts Podcasts

also available also availableininthe theiTunes iTunesStore Store

NOVEMBER 2010 | Page 19

Over Labor Day weekend, 18 college journalists took over this issue of South Florida’s homeless newspaper.

They got more than they bargained for.

What we learned SPECIAL ISSUE www.HomelessVoice.com “The voice of the homeless”

Volume 12, Issue 7

VOICE

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