The
Voice HOMELESS W
Oct. 2014
COSAC Foundation
For
ill
rite
Food 2014... For
PO Box 292-577 Davie, FL 33329
A shelter without Sean Story: Ally Krupinsky, University of South Dakota Photo: Stephanie Mason, Florida International University
How the successor plans to take over The Coalition of Security and Charity shelter is Sean Cononie’s life. It’s also what’s killing him. Cononie does his sleep-deprived work behind a desk littered with paperwork and a cloud of cigarette smoke. He suffers from severe heart issues, and his back and knees are shot. Cononie runs and is the founder of the COSAC shelter. When Cononie dies, he wants Mark Targett to take over the shelter.
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Founder confronts both futures: shelter and his own Story: Roberto Roldan, University of South Florida Photo: Bria Granville, Western Kentucky University Sean Cononie knows he needs to change. As director and founder of the Coalition of Service and Charity, Cononie has spent years working 24-hour shifts — surviving on a daily diet of five cases of Nestea and two packs of Marlboro Reds. Right now Cononie says he works at least 20 different jobs a day: “medical doctor, security, case manager, fact checker, mediator” and so on. Cononie is COSAC — in fact, some even call the shelter Coalition of Sean Anthony Cononie. “I even have a ‘life pack’ near me. I
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Broken building,
broken body
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Addias Eugene Alicia Hernandez Amparo Penuela Angel Porras Angela Martinez Arelys Pod Arturo & Amelia Rodriguez Awake Inc. Barbara DeSanto Barbara Robinson Basil & Sonja Gonsalves Bill & Laura Fash Bobbie Given Charles & Tracy Rice Coco Mindreau Dalal Almeida Daniel Guevara David Reiff Deco Illusions Inc Donald & Rose Rieth Donna Galloway
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Maria Elena Rodriguez Maria Ortega Maria’s Birthday Wishes for The Homeless Mark Duske Mark Targett Mary Parish Messan Benissan Michael Prokop Miguel & Mariana Mujica Mindful Music Movement Morris Kaufmann Nadine Collette Norma Deyo Patrice & George Shurland Paul & Rosalie Pierce Paul Christodoulou Pin Osuji Praxi Solutions Presbyterian Women In The Congregation Ramonita Lopez R K Campbell
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Thank you for your support Angels! Your support keeps our doors open! Dear Homeless Voice Readers: We are the small non-profit that runs the #1 emergency and response shelter in South Florida. We serve, house, and care for 500 homeless every day, and have costs like any other business: water, power, rent, programs, staff and legal help. The Homeless Voice is extremely effective. It is a place where anyone in need will get help. It is a safe place for people to go when they have nowhere else to turn. We take no government funds. We run on donations averaging about 33 cents. If everyone reading this paper gave the price of a cup of coffee, our fundraising would be done. If helping people is important to you as it is important for us, take one minute to go online to www.hvoice.org and become a monthly angel. $15 per month is what we need from You. Please help us forget fundraising and get back to Serving the Homeless. Thank you. Please visit: www.hvoice.org/member
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Oct. 2014
Editor’s note
The
HOMELESS Voice
Noelle Haro-Gomez
Last year, I walked into a tight, stuffy boardroom on the second floor of the Ramada Inn in downtown Hollywood, psyched to meet the students with whom I would spend the next 36 hours producing the Homeless Voice. I felt like I was meeting people I already knew—my long lost friends (thanks, Facebook!). This year, when 21 college journalists from around the country met each other, it really was for the first time. In fact, they were complete strangers. I became a little weary – the Will Write For Food 2014 staff seemed scared to talk to each other (and of me!), and they seemed anxious of the experience awaiting them at the Coalition of Service and Charity (COSAC) homeless shelter. They would look down at their phones, avoiding eye contact.
But they quickly won me over … At hour zero all I got from the staff were blank, deer-trapped-in-the-headlights stares and silence. No concerns voiced or questions asked. Three hours in, their fears transformed into their motivations. I was happy to see them bonding with one another, laughing as they walked off to the beach. Nine hours in, it was a total 180. They were taking charge, bouncing ideas off each other, running around the shelter snapping photos and interviewing residents and staff of the shelter. Finally, at 36 hours, I am incredibly pleased to say this group of staffers went above and beyond. I am beyond proud. And now, I leave you with this poem written by a fellow staffer …
A Homeless Voice
Poem: Sandeep Varry, Florida International University Art: Celene Arvizu, University of Arizona All the worries and rules Of this world I left them way behind Don’t ask me to go back there My demons still want me They tell me I am More than flesh and bones, (and I say no) But some days I am Just six feet away From being just that Shower, I do when I want Sleep, I can when I want Eat, yes, I am well fed Now tell me Can it get better than that? I smile, I smile a lot It costs me nothing Yet, I don’t see you smiling What happened? I thought you were rich Less clothes and even less shoes You know, I got nothing to lose Enjoy yours while they last,
Because when you throw them away You know I will! I do look at the calendar But unlike you, I have no deadlines to track Just some memories I pinned And some promises I never kept I call you my friend And I call you my brother I don’t care you look down at me Because in the end You know we will be equals If it was the shelter For being ungrateful I know you would be filling my spot The society has left me, not my God He sees me with same eyes as you I don’t need any ear To hear me out But hear the ones around you I might be, a homeless voice But, my voice is not homeless
Special thanks to our sponsors: Society of Professional Journalists Florida, SPJ Region 3, South Florida Black Journalists Association and National Association of Hispanic Journalists South Florida.
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Staff Students Celene Arvizu University of Arizona Claire Boston University of Missouri Carl Castro Southern Connecticut State University Lakeidra Chavis University of Alaska Fairbanks Nicole DeCriscio DePauw University (Indiana) Ellen Eldridge Kennesaw State University Jordan Gass-Poore’ Texas State University Bria Granville Western Kentucky University Alex Jacobi University of Missouri Ally Krupinsky University of South Dakota Melhor Leonor Florida International University Brendon Lies Florida Atlantic University Farhin Lilywala Georgia Perimeter College Stephanie Mason Florida International University Phoebe McPherson University of New Hampshire Logan Meyst Otterbein (Ohio) Roberto Roldan University of South Florida Ashley Stewart University of Washington Sean Stewart-Muniz University of Florida Sandeep Varry Florida International University Nicole Wiesenthal University of Florida
Advisers Noelle Haro-Gomez Editor-In-Chief Michele Boyet co-director / shelter liaison Gideon Grudo co-director / editor adviser Michael Koretzky co-director / boring logistics Christine Capozziello photo adviser Michelle Friswell assistant design adviser Shannon Kaestle assistant photo adviser
wwff14.wordpress.com
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Faces of the shelter
Photos: Stephanie Mason, Florida International University We often forget that what truly makes a home is not any place or space, not items one can break or take, neither trinkets nor treasures. Although some may be houseless, it’s what they carry in their heart that keeps them from truly being homeless. (See page 26 for more photos.)
Dorothy Robbinson
Lynn Williams
Fred
Susie, Derek
Oct. 2014
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From night seizures to night security Story: Roberto Roldan, University of South Florida Photo: Stephanie Mason, Florida International University Because of his daily seizures, Cliff Pieczarka, the night security guard at the Coalition of Service and Charity homeless shelter, does not remember years or dates very well. An experience Pieczarka said he does remember, however, was when he walked into a client room during his rounds at the shelter and discovered someone had stopped breathing. Without hesitation, Pieczarka said he began performing CPR until the ambulance arrived. “That’s what I do,” Pieczarka said. “I deal with the patients. I get the EMT’s space. I respond to emergencies as best I can.” After a childhood battle with leukemia, and the subsequent seizures that left him permanently disabled, Pieczarka‘s dream of joining the fire department and following in his family members’ footsteps seemed just that: a dream. But when Pieczarka wandered into the homeless shelter in 1999 at the age of 19, he found a home, a purpose, and a job in public service he could not have had otherwise. Whenever he is needed, Pieczarka now spends nights at the shelter guarding the property, doing bed checks, and liaising between medical personnel and the shelter that took him in.
“The shelter took me from when I was in a bad position to being able to learn something,” Pieczarka said. “It’s what I do; it’s what makes me complete in a way.” Working the night shift at the shelter serves a dual purpose. When Pieczarka first began working at COSAC, his gran mal seizures—a seizure characterized by a loss of consciousness and muscle contractions— were mostly nocturnal. Sean Cononie, director of COSAC, said Pieczarka’s seizures, which were happening six or seven times a day at the time, got him to notice Pieczarka in the first place. “He needed someone to watch him at night,” Cononie said. “So if he was doing security or public service, there were other guards out at the same time.” “But if you ask Cliff, he’ll probably tell you the last time he had a seizure was two months ago when really it was two days ago,” he said. “That happens a lot to people with seizures; they don’t remember.” Pieczarka said he feels like Cononie noticed something in him and took him under his wing at the shelter. Cononie helped him get an apartment, security training and a job that makes him feel like he’s helping people and accomplishing his dream. Pieczarka also found purpose in
Cliff Pieczarka, a COSAC security guard, resolves a conflict at the shelter. Francesca, a woman he met while patrolling the shelter property in 2010, as well as his relationship with her two children. “I was up near the street on the (main property), and I saw a woman in the street that was crying,” Pieczarka said. “I gave her my card and told her that if the shelter can help her with anything or if I can help her with anything, call me.” A week later, Pieczarka said him and Francesca went out to lunch and hit it off. Francesca currently lives in another
Outsider’s opinion:
state, but Pieczarka said he maintains his relationship with her and her two children over the phone. He calls it “phone-line love.” Francesca’s teenage son also wants to be in public service as a police officer. “I talk to him and tell him some of the things I see or things that happen at the shelter,” he said. “I tell him ‘You don’t know that these things happen yet because you’re young, but this is what you’re going to have to deal with, too.’”
What do you think a homeless person’s day consists of?
Story: Farhin Lilywala, Georgia Perimeter College Photos: Bria Granville, Western Kentucky University
H
omeless people should stop being lazy and get themselves jobs. Homeless people don’t have anything to eat. Homeless people don’t do much. That’s what some of the people said in the Hollywood, Fla. community. On a
popular shop-and-bar-and-boutique stretch, Homeless Voice interviewed pedestrians at random. Here’s what they had to say on what homeless people do on a daily basis.
I think to me, it seems like they all know one another. They’re all buddies. ... They’re just hangin’. They’re going from the next free meal to the next free dinner to the next free breakfast. —Kelli Durkin, 31, director for customer service for chewy.com
“I feel that they sit around, not do much, when they should be going out to look for a job and stuff.” —Jennifer Faroy, 30, student
“It’s probably extremely hot. There’s probably a good chance of not being able to eat as much as you’d like to. Like in my experience, it’s some kindness and unnecessary disrespect.” —JordanneAshley Bryan, 18, unemployed
“Ask for money, try to get something to eat and sleep on the floors because they don’t have any place to live.” —Jevon Powell, 13, student
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Oct. 2014
HOMELESS Voice
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FINDING FAITH AND KEEPING IT
Ronald Simmons
Frank J. Moore
Story: Celene Arvizu, University of Arizona Art: Celene Arvizu, University of Arizona Ronald Simmons, a minister and resident at Coalition of Service and Charity homeless shelter, holds out a sturdy hand and waves toward a cab. He carries two bags: one with a strap wrapped around his chest and the other held on his hand. I offer to take one and he says, “That’ll be a blessing sweetheart, thank you.” Simmons opens the door for me and lets me inside. He greets the driver. “Mornin’ sir, how ya doin?” The driver automatically responds with a robotic “good” and maintains his fixation on the road that hasn’t strayed since the start of his day. Simmons settles in and fidgets with his papers in his bag, and tells me about the origins of his calling as a man of God. “Since I was 4-years-old, they be tellin’ me I was a minister,” he said. “I’ve been running from it all my life.” In his youth, Simmons heavily involved himself in the work of the church because “that was all there was to do.” From a choir singer to usher, church and sermons were all that encompassed his life. The edge: He had some vices as a source of motivation. “Before I went up there to sing, I’d smoke a joint,” he said. “Before I was on the podium, smoke a joint. Then after church I’d get drunk and the next morning I’d be spraying on some Gucci and chew some mints. My momma told me, ‘Boy you know it ain’t right. It ain’t right.’” Simmons worked at the Greenburg Law Firm in Florida for eight years. He described his life as having more than a sufficient income, with a morning routine that was more than familiar with Jack Daniels. Simmons said the firm he worked for was plagued with some troubles and had to let go of 250 people, including him. This resulted in a total deterioration of his mental and physical health. His brother and sister, concerned with his health, checked him into the shelter to “keep their eyes” on him. Since then he has been preaching the word of God to its residents as well as the community at New Hope Mission and Baptist Church. The materials of the world have a way of poisoning the good intent of humanity,
I approach most of the few individuals says Simmons. Satisfying the “greed and not the need” consists of a colossal high residing in the cafeteria. A white haired, blue-eyed man in a but violent crash. We arrive at the church. At the doors, faded-yellow shirt sits at the corner of Simmons instantly begins introducing me the table behind us. He looked down and glanced back at me for a second, then to his familiars. In between hurried hellos, tight squeezes back down. That was my cue. and bodies intertwining among passersI grab a folded chair on the wall and by, we get to the sermon room and sit whirl it out to the side of his. I quickly tell together for the mornings first session. Incidentally, the topic of interest for that him that I was looking for a person who day is being spiritually fulfilled in spite of doesn’t believe in religion. I explain that living in a materialistic world. We read I will, however, consider interviewing about deep affliction and poverty among him if I thought he had a story. He smiles, the Macedonians. Sandra Walker leads nods and proceeds to pour out his past. As opposed to someone who has always the adult Bible Study for that morning. “They didn’t need materials. They possessed the core desire of knowing needed spirit. Poverty is not a factor that a God, Frank J. Moore, 55, could not keeps you from living because you can still perceive the idea of a greater being and only knew Jesus live life to its fullest Christ as a man in potential without a story from a book it,” said Walker. in his youth. “Giving is more They didn’t need than just this, more Moore dealt with than physical,” she materials. They needed the struggles of said, rubbing her spirit. Poverty is not a dependency on fingers together in drugs for twenty factor that keeps you from friction. “You give years. At age 8, living because you can love.” smoking pot was The sermon still live life to its fullest a small part of begins a little while his routine and after the study. potential without it. popping pills Simmons moves followed shortly up to the front and thereafter. prepares for the short sermon he is about He was diagnosed with schizophrenia to give. and hepatitis B; he was denied any After the congregation is seated, state-offered aid. When it endangered Simmons speaks about laying our struggles his well-being, those closest to him before God, because he will supply all our became concerned and called upon law needs even though everything points to enforcement as a last resort despite many scarcity. attempts at offering their help and advice. Simmons’s way of speaking reveals that That’s when he was admitted into prison his soul is burned with the passion for a for aggravated assault. greater love. One that is unconditional “I just wasn’t wanting to take any help. and superhuman. For a moment, he isn’t And being mentally ill I became violent the homeless preacher. He’s a man who and couldn’t control myself,” said Moore. incites faith in others. One day, out of desperation for a After the sermon, he insists on buying change from the “same shit different me a meal supplied by the charity event day,” he turned on the television. Kenny held by the church that day. I let him Copeland, a Baptist preacher was on the know I appreciate it, but he really doesn’t screen. Something inclined him to keep have to. He said “Please, it’s my blessing watching. So he did. for today.” “He kept talking about things I was I walk into the shelter with the intention going through,” he said. “That day he of finding a person whose faith was not talked about troubles I was having; the supplied by a metaphysical-divine being. next day he did the same thing, and then
“
again the next day.” Moore felt it wasn’t just a mere coincidence. A greater force was at play and steps from a cosmic blueprint were unfolding. That was the beginning of his shift in awareness of God. He became a Baptist by the time he was released from prison. Both his parents had passed away during his sentence and he was left with no place to go. Instead of focusing on his situation, he focused on the potential for change. He honed his faith through trials and tribulations rather than dwelling on the burden of their weight. “If someone is responsible for making the world, the stars and everything else, there must be a God,” Moore said. Do people lose faith when they’re at the end of their rope? Not necessarily. It seems that most of the shelter’s residents have overcome their circumstances and developed a stronger spiritual insight. Susie Derr, 59, works at the front desk of the shelter. When asked if she knew of someone who didn’t believe in something spiritual, she said it was unlikely. “How can you not?” she said. “When someone rescues you from living on the streets, when you got a place to sleep and food to eat; you’re surviving.” If anything they have become enlightened, treating their opposition as a stepping stone toward their own personal Zion. Because to these people, flesh and creature comforts are not home. There’s something more that keeps them going: a foresight that involves a paradise of the soul, where no hunger exists, disease is unheard of, and past mistakes are wiped clean from the waves of time. If there is such a place, it doesn’t hurt to try and believe.
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Working for a free lunch Story: Carl Castro, Southern Connecticut State University Photos: Carl Castro, Southern Connecticut State University Stealing money from his employer to pay rent, Chris Padilla was fired and eventually lost his place to live. “I ended up sleeping on the street,” he said. Five years ago, homeless shelter director Sean Cononie offered Padilla a place to stay in exchange for his help. He’s lived and worked at the Coalition of Services and Charity in Hollywood for two years before recently coming back four months ago. “They started me off in the kitchen,” Padilla said. “After about two or three weeks there, Sean met me in the kitchen and threw a hissyfit because I was supposed to be out vending.” Many of the shelter’s residents help pay their way by selling, or “vending,” the resident-run newspaper Homeless Voice. Vendors earn a commission based on how many newspapers they sell, said Ron Gauthier, Senior Administrative Staff member. Padilla says it’s good money. “I was bringing in $50, $60, $70, it just kept on getting higher and higher every day,” said Padilla. After a Kohl’s department store cut his working hours, Padilla, started stealing from the store to pay his rent. He was caught and after confessing, was fired. Without that income he struggled to pay rent, but it wasn’t going to be his only problem. “I told my cousin I was moving out,” Padilla said of his roommate. “He got drunk one night and I caught him going through my pockets trying to steal my money. I left and I ended up sleeping on the street.” There are many other residents at the COSAC Homeless Shelter working in maintenance and housekeeping. Those residents receive a stipend, which is set by Cononie and the senior staff. Jeff Doe, a 17-year-resident at COSAC, works in security. “I’m looking out for people trying to come in and stealing from [residents],” Doe said. Many residents are on medication and may faint if they don’t take them, Doe said. He helps them out and calls for medical help if they need it. Right now, he’s not being paid for his security services because of a drinking problem. Cononie says he’s been doing a good job at recovering and will soon be paid. Some residents get more out of their jobs than money. The front desk manager, Susie Derr, came to the shelter with broken ribs and a broken foot. Derr says she has brittle bone syndrome and thanked COSAC for helping her get better. “They put me through Primary Care, a medical clinic that helps people with low income,” Derr said. “They ran tests, or what not, and got me prescriptions for $2 rather than $200.” Derr said that all the residents do a “Hollywood Walk,” where residents go out and clean up the entire block for the community. Cononie said he is trying to develop life skills—skills that residents are grateful for. “I look at Sean as a father,” Padillo said. “I never grew up with a father and he looks at me as a son. If there’s anything I need he’s there for me and likewise for him.”
Jeff Doe
Chris Padilla
Susie Derr
How not to be homeless Story: Sandeep Varry, Florida International University When looking for advice on avoiding homelessness, a homeless shelter can be one of the best places to start. The operations staff at Coalition of Service and Charity homeless shelter have witnessed countless people fill up their rooms. The one thing that bothers them is that many of the homeless end up occupying the beds at the shelter due to bad financial planning. Few people who reside in COSAC were born homeless. Many of them owned houses, had well-paying jobs and a couple of them even had over $100,000 in their savings. “Listen to me, kids,” said Ginny Dangola, head of COSAC operations. “Do anything that you want but don’t become homeless.”
Dangola was modest and funny, but sounded as serious as a military general when she started talking about responsible financial planning. “Always put money aside — at least 20 percent of your earnings,” she said. “Doesn’t matter if you earn that money working for a bank or selling lemonade on the streets.” Roger Wickham, who has worked in operations for 17 years, jumped into the conversation to recount a story about a person who owned a $250,000 home before he ended up in the shelter for the last 10 years of his life. “Save! Save! Save!” Wickham said with a laugh. He said the new arrivals feel embarrassed to reveal the true reason why they’re homeless.
Wickham himself claimed that he had a lot in his bank account before he spent it recklessly and ended up at COSAC. He said that financial planning is something
“
Always pay yourself first before you pay anyone else.
people should start young. He said they should have more than one source of income and should constantly deposit into a savings account from which they can’t easily withdraw. “Lots of money is spent on doing things
that are not necessary and are done only because you have excess money on hand,” Dangola said. “Avoid that and save it. I always have advice to offer, either one can take it or end up here.” She was full of facts and numbers as she patiently went through each piece of advice she had gathered over her decade at COSAC. She repeatedly said how an average American family is only two paychecks away from being homeless. “You look like someone who is smart and is going to be very successful,” Dangola said. “Make sure you come back but only to say hello,” Dangola said as she laughed and said goodbye.
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Loreen Stupariu has been in a homeless shelter for the eight weeks that she has been trying to find an apartment.
Are government programs
enough?
Story: Ashley Stewart, University of Washington Photo: Stephanie Mason, Florida International University Loreen Stupariu took a Greyhound bus more than 1,000 miles from Ohio to Florida because she thought she’d have a place to live. She didn’t. That’s why the 67-year-old has stayed in a homeless shelter for the eight weeks since she arrived. “I’m having to live like an animal,” she said. The U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development offers programs for people at risk of homelessness, but they are out of reach for many of Florida’s homeless. Housing vouchers, like Stupariu’s, allow her to pay rent and utilities with only onethird of her income. For others, affordable housing complexes offer low-cost apartments to people under a certain income limit. Florida is in a housing crisis because of the growing number of homeless people in this state. More than 85,000 people here are homeless, according to the state Department of Children and Families. There are only about 9,000 emergency shelter beds and 13,000 transitional shelter beds, the report says. Stupariu, a former nurse who is trying to get her license back, transferred her
housing voucher from Athens to Fort Lauderdale. She’s been trying to find an apartment, but she says no one has called her back. Now, if she doesn’t find a place to live before Sept. 27, she’ll likely lose her voucher. It’s still challenging for many homeless people to access government programs. If someone can navigate the long process to apply for a voucher or affordable housing, they can wait years before finding a home. If they find a permanent place to live, it still can be hard to sustain with other expenses. For those people, there’s the Coalition of Service and Charity. It’s called a homeless shelter, but for many residents, it’s more of an affordable long-term home. Many of its residents have lived at COSAC for more than five years, others have been around as long as the shelter – more than 17 years. The shelter has upstairs rooms for longterm residents, who can pay from $275 to $550 each month to live in one of the rooms, including food and support. COSAC staff help residents who receive a fixed income – usually a $721 per month disability check – manage money and monitor medications. They keep accounts for each resident, who can request a withdrawal for personal items
or just to get something else to eat, said office manager Ginny Dangola. “Sometimes it just makes them feel like a real person to go to 7-11 and buy a drink,” she said. People living downstairs – a more temporary arrangement – have a different experience, like Stupariu, who spends most of her time in the shelter’s cafeteria. She has been diagnosed with schizophrenia. But she says she’s actually stuck in a state of hypnosis, a condition that mirrors the symptoms of the mental disorder doctors say she has. Stupariu had a nursing license in Florida when she says she was hypnotized. After her diagnosis, she lost her license and moved to Athens to try to find a cure. When that didn’t happen, she moved back to Florida to try to get her license back. She brings in about $1,000 a month between Social Security and retirement. With a housing voucher, she would pay about $300 each month. Without one, rent would take more than half of her income – which she says she can’t afford. Housing authorities use income guidelines to decide eligibility for affordable housing complexes. The seven
affordable housing complexes in Broward County have individual income limits that range from $28,620, where rent for a onebedroom apartment can cost upwards of $710 to a complex where people can make as much as $57,240 – and pay much more. The federal Department of Housing and Urban Development’s definition of homelessness is also a barrier. Because of limited funds, the resource excludes people with any type of housing, even if it’s substandard or crowded. COSAC director Sean Cononie says a housing voucher makes living alone more affordable, but it’s not for everyone. Some people can’t sustain it, he said. “That doesn’t mean they can’t afford it, they just can’t sustain that lifestyle.” The shelter owner says many of his longterm residents struggle with addiction, money management and more. “They need support 24/7,” he said. Still, for people like Stupariu, the shelter isn’t an option long-term. “There’s no privacy here,” she said. When you live alone, “you don’t have to get up at five in the morning, don’t have to share the toilet with other people and you can eat as much as you want.”
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HOMELESS Voice
Oct. 2014
Dealing with the police can be
tough without a home Staffers and residents rely on donations, rent and newspaper sales
Story: Sandeep Varry, Florida International University Photos: Stephanie Mason, Florida International University
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Homelessness is not a crime, but being treated like a criminal is not unusual for the homeless. Not having a home is not the only problem the homeless deal with. Out on the streets, homeless people have to constantly deal with the police, some of whom are more understanding than others. The residents at the Coalition of Service and Charity homeless shelter share their experiences and thoughts on their experiences while dealing with the police on streets. “I just do my thing and try to get away from their sight,” Rodney Messer, a resident and security guard at COSAC, said. Messer, who promptly revealed his alcoholic past, said the situation has always been tough for the homeless. He wishes the police would be more lenient toward them, he said. “Nobody is perfect, so don’t treat us any different from other citizens,” Messer said, before he switched back to talking about his recovery from alcoholism and his love for shelter director Sean Cononie. Not every resident of COSAC had the same opinions as Messer. “Everybody tries to understand if you express yourself properly; same goes to the cops,” said Paul Vincent, who said he is a plumber. Vincent said he thinks the police are looking out for the homeless, by advising them to get off the streets and get into a shelter. While some residents based their opinions on their experiences and feelings, one of them went off the rulebooks. Fred Wucher cited the Fourteenth Amendment when questioned about his experience with the cops. He yelled at the top of his voice, requesting that his fellow
residents behave, and then he settled himself at the table like a White House press secretary would before taking questions. Wucher recited the law that Gov. Charlie Crist signed in 2010 that adds crimes against the homeless to the state hate crime laws. “I am a legal citizen of this country and I expect to be treated the same way as any other citizen,” he said in a steady tone, and then he continued to recount memories. While most of the residents expressed their side of the story, Cononie took time to paint both sides of the canvas. While sympathizing with cops, he said the police are only doing what the city commission instructs them to do. “The cops are stuck between the dilemma of following their orders and helping out fellow human beings,” Cononie said from his chair surrounded by mountains of plastic boxes filled with paper. He managed to change clothes, deal with a resident issue and get ready for a press conference at the same time. But, Cononie did come out against the police, when talking about the COSAC vendors who distribute the homeless voice newspaper at traffic lights. Sometimes the cops drop off homeless people at COSAC, and after sheltering them, COSAC sends them right back out, to vend. “You can’t pick them [the homeless] up from the streets and bring them to the shelter if you have a problem with them returning to the streets to vend, which is completely legal,” Cononie said, as he put his cigarette down in an ashtray as filled with ashes as the homeless shelter is filled with residents. “The vendors should only be confronted if they are breaking a law or disrupting traffic,” Wucher said.
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Oct. 2014
The
HOMELESS Voice
11
ART: A HEALING PASTIME
Within the walls of a homeless shelter, stories and emotions are told through
drawings, tunes and the written word Story: Melhor Leonor, Florida International University Photos: Stephanie Mason, Florida International University Most of Courtney Cusack’s belongings fit in a plastic shopping bag. Nestled between a pack of cigarettes and an old toothbrush surfaces her most prized possession: a pack of color pencils. Cusack, 60, is a four year resident of the Coalition of Service and Charity homeless shelter, where she sits quietly on a corner of the dining hall to cut letter- sized paper in fours and draw “mostly abstracts, with faces.” When she thinks about not being able to draw, Cusack begins to pull at her hair. For her, like for many other residents, art is a way to express emotions, tell stories and simply kill time. “I can’t even imagine the thought of not drawing,” she said. “I hate television. There is no one to talk to around here. It gives me something to do.” The small pieces of paper are covered in intricate patterns and she takes pride in how she mixes colors. She doesn’t sleep very well at the shelter, but as soon as she arrived, she found a way to spend her day. “When I first got here, there was a pack of color pencils on the counter, and I asked if I could have them,” said Cusack, who hasn’t stopped drawing. “I want something different for the eye to look at. I want to improve my art.” Inspiring other residents is another role art plays in the halls of COSAC. The soft tune of a guitar can be heard on the halls of the shelter’s second floor. Most of the time, it’s Susie’s hands on her guitar strings playing a requested song. “They all have their favorite song that they want me to play,” Susie, 59, said. “It’s fun to watch somebody else have fun, and I really enjoy playing.” When Susie came to the shelter two years ago, she became roommates with Lynn Williams, 67, who was recovering from a stroke.
“I was in a bad state,” Williams said, who now does her own laundry and enjoys reading and watching television. “She brought me back to life.” Susie has two guitars that she has bought by saving from her retirement checks. She said that when she only had one, people would say they wanted to play along with her. After she got the second, she couldn’t find anyone who remembered how to play. “They would say, ‘Oh, it’s been too many years, I’ll just listen,’” Susie said. Cusack, who prefers others not touch her drawings, holds her drawings close in a neat stack tucked inside her composition book. But last Valentine’s Day, she donated a piece for other residents to look at and the shelter tacked it on the walls of the dining hall. For others at the shelter, expression isn’t colors or guitar strings. Ronald Simmons has recently started to put words to paper to say what he wants to say. “I may not walk the way you feel I should walk, I may not talk the way you want me to talk, but you don’t know my story,” Simmons writes in one poem he wrote on Aug. 24. He said the inspiration for this piece, titled “You Don’t Know My Story,” came from a misunderstanding that resulted in hurtful rumors at his church. It’s his way of telling people, “don’t point your finger.” “I asked God to give me something that strengthens somebody or helps somebody,” Simmons said. “When you’re reading it, I hope one little line touches your heart.” Simmons wants to spread his writings throughout the shelter, and finds ways to duplicate them. “I go wherever I can get someone to copy them for me,” he said. “I’m going to keep writing until God tells me stop.”
12
The
HOMELESS Voice
Oct. 2014
‘People actually live here’ A semi-lazy look at mental health in COSAC
Story: Jordan Gass-Poore’, Texas State University Photo: Stephanie Mason, Florida International University Sit and watch, sit and watch… That’s how Fran Todd’s spent the majority of her days for the past two months. Todd, a Coalition of Service and Charity homeless shelter resident who is diagnosed with a traumatic brain injury, sits in one of numerous abandoned wheelchairs in the shelter’s open-spaced lounge area. There should be a sign that says, “Check your sanity right here,” Todd said. Florida’s Council on Homelessness report states that there are 4,055 homeless people diagnosed with a mental health disorder this year in the state, and 120 of them reside in COSAC Homeless Shelter -- a facility with a maximum capacity of 200. Todd is the lounge’s Joan Rivers, criticizing fellow shelter residents and staff members, smoking cigarettes (despite the No Smoking signs), sunbathing and taking her medication. She calls two staff members “The Wrestler” and “cow-tipper lady,” because of their physical appearances. They call her “Miss Intelligence,” Todd said. Being surrounded by mentally ill people may be an environment that manifests and breeds mental illness, or, to Todd, it’s just really annoying. Her response to some fellow residents’ backstories, like the man who said he was being watched by the feds after eating a spray paint laced chocolate bar as a kid, is “I gotta go.” It’s a response that she said helps her maintain her sanity.
The Barry University alumna, clad in a polo and plaid house shoes, surveyed her lounge surroundings with a hawk’s eye. “People actually live here,” she said pretentiously. To Todd’s right was a woman washing her hair with lice shampoo in the sunshine. Facing her was a woman inadvertently exposing her vagina as she fanned herself with the long skirt she was wearing. And to Todd’s left was Anne Marie Rollins (who wouldn’t give her last name for unknown reasons), also sitting in an abandoned wheelchair, smoking cigarettes. Rollins’ faded blond hair hung loosely around her freckled tan shoulders as she described the events leading up to her nicotine addiction and marriage, which occurred simultaneously, both detrimental to her health and hard habits to break. Although Sean Cononie, founder/ director of COSAC, said Rollins doesn’t have a diagnosed mental illness, that the reason she’s prescribed medication is for physical ailments, the reasons for her being in the shelter is similar to Todd, despite the perceived animosity between them over a coveted medical chair in the lounge. The scab on Rollins’ big toe had recently fallen off, exposing crusted, dry sores, the result of gauze rubbing against it after her ankle mysteriously swelled. Soon she’ll tell shelter staff that she needs to schedule a doctor’s appointment,
While issues like this man’s high blood pressure are a common occurance, struggles with mental illness are still far more prominent in homeless shelters.
but for the time being she waited in the lounge patiently to receive her pills that would help alleviate the pain and swelling in her ankle. Cononie said those residents who receive certain types of prescription medication, like one woman’s medication for bipolar disorder, can only receive it at certain times of the day. “The controlled stuff we monitor closely,” he said. A white, plastic hospital wristband still dangled loosely from Rollins’ wrist, a reminder to walk up the shelter’s flight of stairs to the second floor to get her pills because she’s not used to taking medication. Instead, there was a time when she wanted to devote her life to administering it. Rollins moved to Florida about 15 years ago from Pennsylvania, where she had picked up smoking and dropped out of nursing school, after her now exhusband was transferred here for his job with a trucking company. Then they got divorced. “I quit (nursing school),” she said. “It’s really dumb. I could have been making a lot of money right now. That’s life. That’s my ex-husband’s fault.” Self-described as camera shy, Rollins took the time to meticulously cut her head out of all her wedding album photos because she “couldn’t take it.” It was a bullet to Rollins’ heart that brought her to the shelter and a bullet to Todd’s head.
Todd said she was diagnosed with a traumatic brain injury after a bullet lodged in her brain, where it remains behind her left eye, after someone shot her in the line of duty in 1987. Cononie said he couldn’t confirm if she was a police officer, but that if she had been her disability check would be more. “The person I was before is not the person you’re talking to now,” the New Jersey native said. That person wanted to attend law school. This person, with short, salt-and-pepper hair and tar-stained false upper teeth, now takes prescription Phenobarbital for seizures and and Xanax to take the edge off. Todd was quick to point out that she’s not bipolar, that’s her roommate. She just has a bullet to the head. And she can live with that. Just not whiny, crying bipolar residents. Or residents that eat out of trash cans and have “cast-iron stomachs.” That’s why Todd says she pays for her own therapist, so she doesn’t end up like them. Cononie said a social worker and a mental health therapist visits the shelter occasionally to speak with residents. In Todd’s mind, her neurologist is a life saver and how she talks about Cononie, well, he’s the devil. But it’s better than being in jail.
Oct. 2014
The
HOMELESS Voice
13
This is how a homeless shelter makes
$1.5 million a year The shelter relies on donations, rent and newspaper sales
Story: Claire Boston, University of Missouri Photos: Stephanie Mason, Florida International University It takes about $130,000 a month to run the Coalition of Service and Charity homeless shelter, but Director of Operations Ginny Dangola focuses on what residents need each day. She’s meticulous, reaching into her bottom desk drawer to dole out $4 in quarters or $1.50 for cigarettes to patrons who ask. She keeps the cash in a clear plastic makeup bag that’s slightly discolored from dirty change. It’s weighed down by dozens of quarters — good for laundry machines — but a handful of $1 bills sit on top. “That’s very petty money in terms of the whole picture,” Dangola said. COSAC’s residents know to go to Dangola for small deposits, withdrawals and the occasional cigarette. Others call her the queen of the office, but she avoids the computers that monitor each resident’s personal bank account. Shelter employees use everything from Quicken personal finance software, scraps of paper and rolls of coins to track finances. And every month they find a way to break even. The rainy summer months are the hardest. Vendors selling the Homeless Voice newspaper average about $1,000 a week in sales, for $26,000 a month. Some months bring in $40,000. But summer’s long rainy days can prevent them from
selling. Dangola recalls one summer when it rained 17 days in a row. The vendors do better in the winter, when vacationers flood the streets and holidays dot the calendar. Vendors used to do better, bringing in as much as $75,000 a month. But some cities, including Pembroke Pines, Coral Springs and Plantation, passed ordinances banning selling on medians. Seventy selling spots disappeared. Vendors now frequent other cities more often, but Dangola said the shelter hasn’t come close to compensating for the lack of sales. “There’s no way we can make up the difference,” Dangola said. “Financially, everything has changed. There are a lot of things we cut down on.” Those cuts include lighting and air conditioning, which staffers normally keep off while vendors hit the streets. They give out fewer freebies like cigarettes to residents and spend less money offering financial aid to non-residents. There are months when shelter CEO Sean Cononie contributes his own money to make ends meet. “Our budget remains the same, but we’re trying to restructure a little bit,” Cononie said. COSAC owns the run-down building
that was once a motel. Rooms are dark and have low ceilings. Rooms have bunk beds, but some residents still sleep in hallways and on the cafeteria floor. COSAC doesn’t carry a mortgage on the property, which carries an assessed value of nearly $1 million. But electric and water bills are each $3,000 to $4,000 a month. Cononie said cable is more than $600. Shelter workers hope to collect $550 a month in rent from shelter residents. The rent includes a room, three meals a day plus snacks, utilities and access to basic medical services at least once a week. But not all residents can afford the rent, and staffers don’t turn away those who can’t pay. Cononie said the residents who pay
nothing drags a resident’s average rent payment down to about $275 a month. When vendors return at 5 p.m., they turn in their day’s sales to Dangola. They keep 60 percent of their sales after Dangola collects a $26 fee that pays for paper printing, vendor T-shirts, gas mileage and other administrative fees. Most of vendors’ donations come as change. Nickels, dimes and quarters get bagged and locked away in a cabinet behind Dangola’s desk. Pennies, however, sit out in a lime green 71-quart plastic bin. It’s about half full. And for the nonprofit shelter, that bin can bring financial boon. “The pennies add up at the end of the month,” Dangola said.
Where It Goes: Costs about $130,000 a month to run the shelter
(total budget: more than $1.5 million)
Vendors average $1,000 a week in paper sales//
$26,000 a month Used to be $50,000-$75,000
a month, then seven cities banned selling on medians
Vendors pay $26
for expenses each day and keep 60 percent after that. Shelter staff help residents exchange coins into cash.
Ideal rent: $550 a month
Many residents pay nothing
though, so the average
rent is about $275 Electric bill: $4,000 a month Water bill: $3,300 a month
Cable bill: $600+ a month
Homeless for a day 14
The
HOMELESS Voice
Oct. 2014
A college journalist immersed in COSAC shelter Story: Nicole Wiesenthal, University of Florida Photos: Stephanie Mason, Florida International University Being homeless on the streets made me feel demoralized, dehumanized, unwanted and alone, but during my four hours in the shelter, I had friends who watched out for me, people who asked and cared about my opinion, and a community that welcomed me in and gave me a place to belong. My Day as a Homeless Person:
1. Dressing Homeless
I chose to be a fashionable homeless woman. I wore a tie as a belt, a flamingo pink tank top and a denim jacket with frills on the sleeves and collar (which earned me a lot of compliments). I also wore a Jagermeister hat and large shorts with actual pocket space.
2. Watching TV
I sat outside to watch a ‘60s cowboy movie on a large static-covered TV screen with a few other shelter-mates. I struck up a conversation with a man from Boston, and then decided I needed to find some work.
3. Getting a Shelter Job
Jeremiah, a kind-hearted, large man with crosses on his necklace, seemed to run the cleaning operations at the shelter. I put on gloves that were a little too tight on my hands, and cleaned tables, helped mop the floor and did the laundry. It was tough work, but I was proud to earn my keep.
4. My Own Bed
While taking the trash out of rooms, I decided that if I were to stay homeless, I’d want my own bed. Many people had accessorized their beds with accents like stuffed animals, thick frilled curtains and hanging pieces of art. You don’t need to lose your sense of style when you become homeless. I liked all of the personalization.
5. Wash Your Hands
People constantly reminded me to wash my hands. “Washing your hands” actually meant using hand sanitizer. Sanitize. Sanitize. Sanitize. Don’t get sick.
6. The Mardi Gras Woman
While waiting for the towels to dry, I met a woman who wore beads around her neck; one for every Mardi Gras she attended. She also worked as a flight attendant on a plane that she said Frank Sinatra’s mother was on.
7. The (RECOVERING) Alcoholic
The sleeping man in the hall is recovering from an alcohol addiction. “Go get treatment,” you would say. No place will take him in because of his medical conditions. His sister gave him the phone he has. When he was
younger, he processed photos. He smokes (it helps with the addiction) and collects the ashes in a cola can. I have faith that he can recover.
8. My Delicious Lunch
I tore through pieces of salty, spiced chicken, a slice of white bread, a tough pastry and watery vegetables. I washed it all down with iced tea. The elderly man next to me slid his tray toward me and offered me his slice of bread. I shook my head, no. I get a lot more food than he does on a daily basis.
9. Out on the Street
I decided to take my homelessness on the road because not everyone has a shelter. I hate cars, people, loud noises and traffic. I found myself shying away from the sun and practically everything that moved. I got honked at, but ignored. I felt extremely different and a lot less confident.
10. My Quest for a Restroom
I had to pee, so I decided to go to the park in central Hollywood, the Arts Park. When I got there, I found the restroom had been closed for cleaning. I tried another one: locked. I decided to find a job.
11. Finding a Job: Attempt One
At the first restaurant, a young man in a black outfit ushered me to a bar stool. He motioned towards the owner. “Can we have an application for her to fill out?” The owner motioned back. I was told they didn’t have openings and escorted out the door. It was insulting, but I wasn’t surprised.
12. I’m Told I’m Beautiful, Repeatedly
A stranger told me I was beautiful multiple times and asked for my number and Facebook -- any way for him to contact me. He said I have galaxy eyes. He also decided I needed a hobby and told me I should smoke weed. I thought that I wouldn’t get hit on when I was homeless; I was wrong.
13. Finding a Job: Attempts Two, Three, Four and Five
They’re not hiring. I need to bring in a resume. I should come back on Monday. I need to apply online. Owners and managers lurked at the entrances of stores watching me as I passed. I felt like it was impossible to find employment despite my youth; I got immediately rejected just because of how I looked and because I lacked resources.
14. My Quest for a Restroom: Two
Nicole Wiesenthal
The restroom at the park was open when I returned a half hour later. I got to pee and wash my hands. Washing the dirt off my hands felt extremely gratifying. If I can wash my hands, I can do anything! I also got to wash my face.
15. Evaluating my Life in the Shade of the Trees
I got to lie under the trees and rest my extremely blistered, black feet. If I didn’t have the shelter, I would want to live at the park. It has all of the amenities except food: a restroom, shade, comfy grass and bushes for protection.
16. The Long Trek Back
I had developed a limp from walking in cracked, wooden sandals that don’t fit my feet. I felt sunburnt and extremely hot. My tongue felt dry and sticky.
17. Water
I stepped into a local diner and asked for a cup of water to go. The woman at the counter told me to sit in a bar stool so I could get the water for free. At the bar area, I declined a menu and gulped down my water. Being homeless made everything seem expensive. Refreshed, I made my way back to the shelter.
18. Folding Towels
I folded towels when I got back to the shelter, and Jeremiah let me keep the change (63 cents) we didn’t use on the coin-operated laundry machines. I felt bad about taking the money, but happy to know that someone was looking out for me.
19. The Reveal
Finally, my day was over. I revealed to a few of the shelter people (who were the only people during my short time as a homeless person I had come to trust) that I had actually been an undercover journalist and thanked them for such a great experience. They thanked me for helping them and wished me luck. I’m glad to have been homeless.
Conclusion
The people at the homeless shelter defy all stereotypes. They look out for one another and build a community to protect themselves from the harsh realities of a world that stigmatizes the homeless community and the people who are a part of it. The members of the community, especially those at
the shelter who work to earn their keep, deserve respect for surviving in a society that fears and hates them for no reason other than that they were unlucky enough to lose almost everything they owned. I’m proud to say that I was a part of that community.
The
Oct. 2014
Relieving stress
HOMELESS Voice
15
through community
Story: Logan Meyst, Otterbein (Ohio) Illustration: Celene Arvizu, University of Arizona
I never encountered anyone who wanted to be anywhere else. As part of my time at the Coalition of Service and Charity, I shadowed staff members doing several different jobs -working in the kitchen, helping with the intake of residents at the front desk and caretaking. The homeless shelter employs staff for a wide variety of services for its residents, creating a community for people to live in. Without this community, COSAC would be a shell of its current self that would resemble a prison. Staff members serve as a constant reminder that this place is a true community for everyone who goes there. Every resident who is capable is required to work in order to live there. However, to understand what it’s like to work here, one has to work alongside the residents.
Odd jobs When asked what his job title was, Roger Wickham identified himself as the “night manager.” Roger Wickham’s job title is “night manager,” but what he really does is much more varied than what the title implies. He serves as caretaker for residents during the night.
He’s dedicated to his work which he showed when he came in specifically to talk to the Will Write For Food staff on Sunday, his day off. He also told me that he will even stay at the shelter past his shift when something needs to be done. Althea Jones’ official job title is case manager for COSAC. Like Roger, she “does a bit of everything” around the shelter. She wanders the shelter serving as caretaker, assuring herself that everyone is doing well and correcting this assurance when necessary. She said she is often approached by residents with questions.
“The Nucleus” Dubbed “the nucleus” of COSAC by Christine Jordan, who worked alongside Asterman, the front desk accepts new residents, communicates to the masses through intercom, stocks and maintains the supply closet full of cigarettes and medications and serves as the hub that almost every fragment of information first flows through. It took about five minutes for the staff at the front desk to stem the flow of residents needing help enough to speak with me for a few seconds. I was greeted by Jordan, who was in the middle of
explaining the intake process when a man who was apparently not a resident of COSAC entered the room. He appeared sweaty and in need of a meal. Jordan quickly gave him a paper bag. The man said he had thought that the shelter didn’t used to give out food like this. Jordan assured him that the shelter has always done this for those who need food. “We won’t let anybody go hungry,” Jordan said. “I don’t care [who they are], I’ll go back and get two cans of beef stew and a loaf of bread.” The front desk often deals with the brunt of the homeless community, but, except for in a few instances, they will not turn away anyone. “Everybody’s got a different story and that’s the way we have to treat them, you can’t judge or generalize anybody who walks through these doors. We’ve had 19-year-old kids come in here, which breaks my heart. And I can understand older people messing up, you know, but a young kid? Why are they homeless?” Jordan said. “If we couldn’t laugh, I quote Jimmy Buffet all the time, ‘if we couldn’t laugh, we’d all go insane.’” Asterman worked at many shelters before COSAC. He doesn’t plan on leaving this one. “I have confidence that this is the best
shelter that I have ever worked with over the years because the clients that are sleeping on bus benches or park benches are getting arrested by the cops,” he said. “Here they can watch TV, make phone calls, here they have laptops. After the initial intake you can do whatever you want.”
Serving everything but soup I barged into the COSAC kitchen looking for work. Vinnie Macrina made sure I got it. I found myself chopping potatoes when Larry Murphy, who says he is a seasoned veteran, showed me how to cut them in a way that wouldn’t put my fingers at risk. As I thanked him he joked about how he had several scars on his fingers from doing the same thing, distracting me and putting my fingers at risk again in the process. With fingers intact, I stepped out of the kitchen and helped serve lunch. I served those who couldn’t serve themselves and started to feel the pride that the staff must feel each day. Feeding residents helped me to understand what drives those who are part of a community that’s necessary to the beacon of hope that is COSAC.
16
From day 1 to
The
HOMELESS Voice
Oct. 2014
5 years in a homeless
Here’s what a young staff writer learned during his short time living as a homeless person.
shelter
Sean Stewart-Muniz
Story: Sean Stewart-Muniz, University of Florida Photos: Bria Granville, Western Kentucky University It wasn’t enough money. I thumbed the crumpled dollar bill in my pocket, damp from the sweat that first soaked through my underwear, then the lining of my shorts and later the cotton blend of my last piece of currency. The Burger King I walked into had air conditioning — a godsend. My clothes stuck to my skin like I’d just climbed out of a pool, not unlike walking through Florida’s 95 degree weather. I walked up to the cashier, sure that I could at least get a free cup of ice water. “That’ll be 27 cents,” the cashier said. My heart sank. The law says water is free, but the law didn’t help me here. I didn’t have anyone to complain to, and Burger King was master of the ice water. I handed her the bill, eyes lowered, and waited for my change. As she turned to walk away, a word traveled up my throat, choking me as it made its way to my lips. “Hey.” She turned her head back to me and waited. “That was my last dollar,” I said. “Can you help me buy a sandwich?” Without pause, she opened the register, took my change and rang up a chicken sandwich off the dollar menu. I stood for a moment, calculating how much money I had just been gifted. Thirty-four cents of charity — it felt like millions. Next to my sandwich sat a large cup of fries, another gift from the cashier who didn’t know me and likely would never see me again. She said her name was Erica, and when I shook her hand, she gave me a golden toothy smile. Even though I was coated in sweat and dirt and probably smelled like a 50-50 mix of must and mold, she broke the rules to make my day easier. As someone who was able to pay for anything he wanted only a day prior, her silent empathy left my hands shaking. I didn’t even smile at her or make eye contact. She proved to me that the stories of simple kindness had some truth to them, and that indifferent people can be human – even if it’s just giving away a sandwich. It was tough to imagine that a baggy shirt and khaki shorts without a button could net me a free sandwich. I ditched my normal wear for an outfit from the donation pile at the Coalition of Service and Charity. The shelter had a wide variety of mismatched shoes, oversized shirts and ill-fitting pants. With my fresh wardrobe, driver’s license and that single dollar in my pocket, I set out early Sunday morning to see how downtown Hollywood treated the homeless. After a couple hours in the field, I was to walk back to the shelter and take the first steps in becoming part of the homeless community. The 30-minute reprieve in the Burger King’s air conditioning was short-lived.
The chill that coated my skin melted away in the heat. Ahead of me: a series of street-side restaurants and bathing suit stores. Behind me: Hollywood City Hall and the public library, which is closed on Sundays. I headed toward the restaurants, remembering the shelter was roughly a mile in that direction. Cars appeared from a shimmering curtain miles ahead, travelling indifferently on concrete pockmarked with glasslike mirages. During pauses in the shade, I begged for money. Passers-by shook their heads, said no or didn’t spare me a look. One man pushed a stroller past me: his eyes were locked on me while the child kept his focus on his toys. The water I hadn’t sweat out collected in my bladder, so I stopped at a Starbucks to urinate. The bathroom door had a coded lock, and when I asked the cashier to use it, she replied with a brisk “Paying customers only.” Besides the people I asked for change, no one seemed to notice me. I wasn’t a target – I was a shadow on the sidewalk. An hour and a half into the journey, I found the North Federal Highway, a straight line to the shelter. I walked in the door wearing a stranger’s clothes, slick with sweat and in desperate need of something cooler than 90 degrees. Susie, the woman manning the front desk, took down my name and fingerprints for a background check. The shelter doesn’t allow entrance for felons or people with active warrants out for their arrest. For the first time since Erica the Burger King cashier rocked my world, someone showed me the compassion my clothes robbed me of. She smiled at me, called me sweetheart and understood when I said I didn’t know my social security number or if I was earning government payments. She outlined the process: I was an intake now – a member of the shelter. For roughly five days I’d be on lockdown while I was interviewed, watched and put to work cleaning. I couldn’t leave the shelter if I had any hope of coming back. The first night holds in store a hot meal, a sleeping mat and cleaning work to earn your keep. The second gives a hot shower with body wash, shampoo, a clean towel and clean clothes if you came in without any. “That shower is the first step back to humanity,” she said. On the last day, I’d become a vendor – I’d stand out on the streets peddling the shelter’s newspaper: “the Homeless Voice.” Part of what vendors make goes back to the shelter, and part goes back to them. Everyone at the shelter vends or
has,
vended,
and
some
residents
oasis of color amid bleached tile hallways
like Susie takes pride in it. “It’s about helping out here and making sure everybody is taken care of,” she said. “I’m bringing this money home for all these people.” Susie came into the shelter five years ago after a broken ankle left her without work for six weeks. She said when you live paycheck to paycheck, a car and apartment you’ve had for years can be gone in days. She made her way to the shelter when she was able to, and stuck out the then 15-day lockdown. By the end, she didn’t want to leave. Her room in the shelter, which she shares with two other women, became an
She has all the comforts of home: a laptop with Internet access, woven baskets decorating the walls and even a shower rug in her bathroom. Susie has worn many hats at the shelter – like all the other residents have – and has long since earned enough money to move back out of the shelter. But the shelter has changed from a place to sleep to one where she can live. She told me, even if my hour-long stay in the shelter was pretending, that I was part of that place now. That just like the woman who had to be coaxed into eating with ice cream every night, I’d be cared for. “You’ve got a whole family here, and
Christine Jordan
The
HOMELESS Voice
17
A shelter without Sean
Oct. 2014
How the successor plans to take over
Story: Ally Krupinsky, University of South Dakota Photo: Stephanie Mason, Florida International University
Continued from cover
“The best thing in my life was meeting Mark,” Cononie said. Mark Targett is the assistant director of the COSAC shelter. He spends two weeks at the shelter every other month because he works better from home. Targett is 10 years sober, but he didn’t want to comment on his background further. Cononie loves Targett like a son. But as close as the two are, Targett isn’t sure he’ll be able to fulfill Cononie’s wish. Targett’s kids cover Cononie’s bedroom walls. They’re family. “Whether the fact that we’re blood related or not, doesn’t matter,” Cononie said. “We’re blood related.” Cononie and Targett have different approaches when it comes to dealing with the shelter. Cononie balances everything at once, while Targett takes things slowly and makes sure that Cononie’s plans follow through, Targett said. For now, it works. But the future may be a different story. “Sean’s just such a special person,” Targett said. “Sean is kind of the glue that holds everything together and for him not to be there, there would be a huge void.”
Broken building,
broken body Continued from cover
don’t go anywhere without it,” Cononie said, cigarette in hand. What Cononie calls his life pack is a big black case known as M.O.N.A. (morphine, oxygen, nitro and aspirin). The kit also contains a defibrillator. Cononie has two life packs, one in his car and one right outside his office. A couple of months ago, Cononie broke his knee cap for the second time and admits he is as slowed down as he has been in a long time, though he continues to work excruciatingly long shifts. For years his lifestyle has concerned his doctor and clients, but after a number of friends and close residents passed away over the last five months, Cononie received a wake up call. The recent death of Lois Cross, his closest friend who spent the last seven years sleeping on the floor and working 120 hours a week alongside him, sent the message to Cononie loud and clear. He doesn’t want to be next. The changes in his lifestyle have to start with the COSAC shelter because it is his life.
The plan, according to Cononie, needs to include consolidating the amount of properties the COSAC Foundation currently owns to move to a larger shelter that is more ergonomic. “We have too many properties...” He said. “We have to become small to become bigger.” Cononie said he also needs to change the way the staff and administrative side of the COSAC shelter operates. He is concerned that if he goes down, the shelter will follow. “It’s like Caesar,” Cononie said. “If Caesar falls, everything goes down.” Michael Stoops is the Director of Community Organizing for the National Coalition for the Homeless. He agrees that changes need to be made at COSAC to make it sustainable. Stoops has been friends with Cononie for years and has worked with the National Coalition for the homeless since Cononie opened the original COSAC shelter on Lincoln Street 16 years ago. Stoops said he is also concerned that the COSAC shelter suffers from the
Cononie has dedicated his life to the COSAC shelter. He works a wall away from where he sleeps - when he gets to it. Targett, who has a wife and six kids, doesn’t know how he’ll compare. “I would never be able to donate as much time as he does to the shelter,” Targett said. “I guess my biggest fear is I wouldn’t want it to close down. I would want to see everything he’s worked for his entire life be a permanent thing.” It’s been over a year since Cononie and Targett have discussed what will happen once Targett takes over. Targett doesn’t have a plan. He may work at the shelter full-time, or he may hire someone else entirely to replace Cononie. “I think you’d have to get three different people to replace Sean just because he does so much for the shelter,” Targett said. “And I don’t think I would be able to mimic exactly what he does.” Targett said he might have to turn people away and implement hours of operation in order to keep the shelter functioning without Cononie. “He’s able to take on more,” Targett said. “He always wants to take on more, and
Founder confronts both futures: shelter and his own Story: Roberto Roldan, University of South Florida
founder’s syndrome, where Cononie holds so much power and influence that his death would make it hard for the COSAC shelter to function on even a basic level. “Sean is a 24/7 person. He is truly committed to the cause and he is like the leader there,” Stoops said. “He really needs to learn how to pace himself and make sure he’s there for as long as possible.” Cononie said if the appropriate changes are made at the shelter, if he can hand off some control and finally start to spend time at home rather than live at the shelter, then positive changes to his health will begin to follow. “I believe God gives you what you can handle and right now I can’t handle it,” he said. The issue currently facing Cononie however is how to hand over responsibilities at the shelter and who should take them on. Mark Targett, assistant director of The Homeless Voice newspaper run by the shelter, has been with COSAC since day one.
Though he seems to be the obvious choice to take over for Cononie, he said he views Targett as a son —the highest honor is his eyes — and is concerned about Targett giving more attention to the shelter than to his wife and six kids. Cononie doesn’t want Targett sitting at his desk, living the same lifestyle he has found himself stuck in. Targett agrees that his wife and children prevent him from ever being as dedicated to the shelter as Cononie, but said when he moves down to Hollywood in January, he might be able to offer a solution. “I can’t do what Sean does and I don’t think anyone could do what Sean does,” Targett said. “I think the solution might just be to simplify things...let Sean focus on what he does best.” The changes in store for the COSAC shelter are murky at best. Cononie said even he doesn’t know exactly what will be done, but there is one thing he is sure about: “Some changes need to happen and they need to happen soon.”
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The
HOMELESS Voice
Oct. 2014
The journey to sobriety is
1,200andMILES then some...
Story: Lakeidra Chavis, University of Alaska Fairbanks Photo: Stephanie Mason, Florida International University Bridgeport. Fort Pierce. Johannesburg. Hollywood. Artie Goncalves drove 1,200 miles trying to get away from crack cocaine. But the sobriety he found wasn’t on the Florida coastline, instead it was in a homeless shelter in downtown Hollywood. The first time Goncalves tried crack was with a girlfriend in Connecticut, at age 30. The recently divorced father with two children, quickly became addicted but wanted to quit. “I told myself I didn’t want to do anymore drugs,” Goncalves said. After receiving $15 from his girlfriend to purchase more, he didn’t. He decided to run away instead. “I got in my car and just drove,” he said. When he arrived in Fort Pierce, it was just the beginning of his journey to
recovery—not the end. He relapsed and became homeless, living under bridges and trains along the coast. But moving around wasn’t foreign to Goncalves, who was born in Portugal. He later moved to Connecticut with his family in the late 60s. He worked as a laborer to save up money, sometimes staying clean three months to even a year before lapsing. In 1999, Goncalves met his current wife. For the next few years they moved between Florida and Arkansas. His battle with addiction continued too, with his longest sobriety period lasting a year. Then he began working at Coalition of Service and Charity and met Sean Cononie, the founder and director. To combat his drug addiction, Cononie would take a large part of Goncalves’
Mark Sanders detoxes on the second floor of the shelter.
paycheck. “He used to take every penny away from me, he’d give me like $5. He was helping me,” Goncalves said. Cononie put the money away telling Goncalves he could have it when he was clean for good. That day came in August 2001. Goncalves took all of the money Cononie put away for him, approximately $3,000. He didn’t save the money. He took off a week from work and spent it all—on crack cocaine. And he’s been sober ever since. But that final path to recovery wasn’t easy. Cononie would have him check residents for drugs, to see if Goncalves would lapse. He acknowledged that it was difficult for him at first, but it became easier.
“I was shaking, sweating, and Sean was following me every place I went,” Goncalves said. But Goncalves, now 61, still prefers to take it day-to-day. He maintains contact with his son on Facebook and reconnected with his daughter a few months ago, after 25 years. “Many, many times I grabbed the phone to say hello, and I dialed [the number], and didn’t even know what to say,” Goncalves said. After calling her, she visited him for a week with his two daughters. His daughter could not be reached for comment at the time of publication. “I feel so much better. I came from nothing, to this, I’m doing great now,” Goncalves said. “I know what I went through, what it took me to do it, and it’s not easy.”
Oct. 2014
$1
The
HOMELESS Voice
19
for a newspaper, hope for a homeless person
Story: Ellen Eldridge, Kennesaw State University Photos: Stephanie Mason, Florida International University Ginny Dangola sits in the airconditioned office, smoking cigarettes as she doles out sage advice to everyone crossing her path, from student journalists to homeless vendors, who sell the shelter’s newspaper for donations. “Save 20 percent of every check you get,” Dangola, office manager for the Homeless Voice shelter, says to students touring the facilities. Makeshift cots in the crowded upstairs hallway don’t elicit a sense of home, but many people have made the Homeless Voice shelter their home. “My home is at COSAC. Sean is my landlord, Ginny is my boss. That’s exactly how I look at it,” said Dianna Martin, who lives and works at the shelter. “Susie and Lynn are my roommates, Alan is my boyfriend and that’s all I have there. And my bucket that I collect my money with.” Martin is one of an average 60 homeless people working as vendors and soliciting donations for The Homeless Voice newspaper, which is part of the Coalition of Service and Charity Foundation that Sean Cononie started in 1997. The job vending the monthly printed newspaper could translate to a marketable job skill in one-third of the people working, Dangalo said. Ken Grippo works in the office, but considers himself a retired businessman, and volunteers at the shelter to build himself back up after four years of homelessness. He and his partner now live in a house, and they continue to save money from their Social Security checks. In contemplating why people are homeless, Grippo lets out a long sigh,
letting go of his past experience and reconciling the personalities and situations of those he’s interacted with as both a resident and an employee of the shelter. “The easiest answer is that they can’t take care of themselves,” he said, describing one resident as the most disheveled person and what you would expect the typical homeless person looks like. “Matted hair, dirty clothes, things like that,” Grippo said, noting that some people would simply rather have drugs and alcohol than a stable place to live. Those who come to the shelter and work as vendors, keep 60 percent of what they collect, minus a $26 program fee, Dangalo said. The residents who vend the newspaper and collect donations for the shelter have to be physically fit. “Not too many of the vendors have disability problems,” Dangola said, adding that they “have to know what they’re doing.” Dangola said homeless workers are encouraged to get part or full-time job. One man, whose name she didn’t want to share, has a job at Flanigan’s Seafood Bar and Grill. She estimates 20 out of the average 60 workers could use their job skills soliciting donations for the paper in a part or full-time job. Martin smiled with pride as she described the importance of her job vending the paper and collecting money for the shelter that she said saved her life. She came to the shelter escaping an abusive relationship that nearly ended
COSAC resident Gary Connell has been a vendor for three years.
Dianna Martin, a COSAC resident and vendor of the year, poses with shelter founder and director Sean Cononie. her life, and she said she only escaped her abusive ex after his attempted murder conviction put him in prison. For Martin, a sense of stability, family, home and work all roll into one at the shelter. Her weather-worn face melts into her hands as she relates how much Cononie has helped her. Now, she works with determination, setting personal goals for herself, she said, describing her drive to succeed. “I have a goal to have $30 in my bucket by 3 p.m. every day,” she said. “I will not stop.” Martin admitted that she has considered working a job somewhere else, and she said she saves money. But, even if she does get an apartment of her
own, she plans to continue volunteering for the shelter at least two days a week. “I don’t have millions of dollars so I have to go with what I have right now,” she said. What she has now, about two years after coming to the shelter, is a room to call her own, roommates and a job as a vendor. “If it’s time for me to go, I’ll struggle for that last dollar until I get it,” she says. “I’m representing COSAC when I’m out there working,” she said, noting that her appearance and her attitude and those of the vendors make a difference when sustaining the place that helped her and many others.
20
The
HOMELESS Voice
Oct. 2014
The murky ethics
The journalist cliché I hate the most goes like this: “I want to be a journalist because I think everybody has a story worth telling.” After two years of journalism school, I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that line. There’s a version of that line that gets passed around the Homeless Voice newsroom. “Oh, he has a great story. You should hear it.” “He” is a different person each time, but it invariably refers to a longtime shelter resident or employee. These stories of homelessness were the ones me and the 20 other students who invaded the shelter were supposed to track down and churn out in about 36 hours. Signing up to take over the Homeless Voice newspaper for a weekend was a “what the hell?” kind of decision for me. The program looked interesting and I figured it would be different enough from the business reporting that’s my usual comfort zone. But I felt funny when shelter staff took us on a tour of the facility Saturday night. We filed down the dingy, narrow hallways upstairs where residents live. Some
“
of covering the homeless
Signing up to take over the Homeless Voice newspaper for a weekend was a ‘what the hell?’ kind of decision for me.
welcomed us in their rooms. Others had makeshift beds in the hallways. Whether they wanted to share or not, we could see their entire personal space. It felt exploitive, especially when we walked past an alcoholic man sweating through his shirt as he went through withdrawal. We’re all privileged college students, flying or driving in for less than 72 hours before we return to our nice homes. As far as I know, none of us have ever been homeless or stayed in a shelter for any reason. Many of us are selfishly here to find that story or two to add to a portfolio. Not everyone we talk to seems particularly eager to share. Some shelter staffers view it differently. Night Manager Roger Wickham has seen
Not entirely true:
By Claire Boston, University of Missouri
all six incarnations of Will Write for Food and said he’s glad the newspaper can focus on the Coalition of Service and Charity residents, if only for one issue. His normal shift is 9 p.m. to 9 a.m., but he’s working days for the weekend we’re here. “There are stories out there that you write that the public needs to know,” he told me. Our short stay doesn’t bug him either. As he points out, “we’ve opened our place up to anybody who wants to come in.” Some residents are open with their stories. Others shy away from us. Wickham said the decision to share isn’t personal. He’s been working at COSAC for years and there are some longtime residents he
knows nothing about. Two guys named Kovach and Rosenstiel came up with 10 elements of good journalism that make up a Hippocratic Oath of sorts for the craft. Line nine goes like this: “[Journalism’s] practitioners must be allowed to exercise their personal conscience. My conscience isn’t convinced that giving a bunch of students the run of the shelter is helpful, or even ethical. But Kovach and Rosenstiel also say that journalism’s first obligation is to the truth. Hopefully we find a little of that here.
A collection of ‘before I was homeless’ stories Story: Nicole DeCriscio, DePauw University Photo: Nicole DeCriscio, DePauw University Before arriving at COSAC, Roberta was a nurse. Lynn was a hairdresser. Fran was an officer, and Dorothy once worked for Playboy Enterprise. Each person’s stories share a common thread—they’re unique, quirky and partially untrue. These women’s stories disprove the stereotype of homelessness being reserved for only those who have addictions or chronic laziness. Instead, their homelessness is a result of an inability to overcome situations in their lives. Sean Cononie, director of COSAC, commented on the dishonest aspects of some of the stories by first pointing to high school reunions. “Whatever you tell your friends you’re doing, about 90 percent of that is true,” Cononie said. “I think that’s the same thing going on here.” As the owner, Cononie has known several of the residents for as long as 17 years. He also says that he has the “art of interrogation” on his side. This does not mean that Cononie lets residents lie to him. “Do I ever call them out on their lies? Yeah, I do,” Cononie said. “You have to.” Regardless, the following profiles are based on what each woman said about their past.
Commercial star, Playboy waitress
‘I loved work’
Dorothy Robbinson was a jackof-all-trades. An actress, she was in a few commercials: one for bath oil and one for French’s mustard. “[French’s] had a new nozzle to make it easier,” Robbinson said. Prior to living at the shelter, she once lived in Jamaica and New York City. She also once worked for the Playboy Enterprise as a waitress and a page and proofreader in Maryland.
Roberta Mauriello used to be a Licensed Practical Nurse (LPN). Now, she is among the residents at COSAC. “I liked it,” Mauriello said. “I loved work.” After being diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, Mauriello lost the vision in her left eye. Mauriello fed patients as part of her duties as a LPN. But her favorite part was talking to her patients. “I got to get their stories,” Mauriello said.
‘It really isn’t as bad as you think’
‘I have a bullet in my head’
“I just enjoyed being with the people,” former hairdresser Lynn Williams said. She stopped being a hairdresser when she had her son, who is now 37. After he was born, she worked as a secretary. Williams preferred being a hairdresser. Williams has lived at the shelter for 14 years. “[Living in the shelter] really isn’t as bad as you think it is,” Williams said. She said the other residents in the shelter have become her family.
Once an officer, Fran Todd, was shot while in the line of duty resulting in a traumatic brain injury. The bullet entered the base of her neck, tore through her brain to remain lodged behind her left eye. “I have a bullet in my head,” she said. Todd noted that she has not been the same since her injury. “I’d like to be what I was,” Todd said. “I used to bowl. I used to scuba dive.”
Lynn Williams was a hairdresser before she was homeless. What Cononie said
Cononie confirmed that Lynn Williams was a hairdresser and that Dorothy Robbinson worked for Playboy and was in a French’s mustard commercial.
The
Oct. 2014
HOMELESS Voice
21
Going home again:
defining home as more than just a place to put your stuff
Story and Photos: Ellen Eldridge, Kennesaw State University Walking down the second floor hallway, an overwhelmingly pungent stench of body odor and stale tobacco surrounds the senses, but an oasis exists in the decorated Room 205, which smells of Febreze and cleaning products. Decorated with baskets, clocks, dried flowers and wind chimes on the wall, three ladies created a home within a homeless shelter, while the rest of the world considers them homeless. “My home is the place I sleep,” Dianna Martin, a resident of the shelter, said. Her roommate, Lynn Williams, has been a resident for 14 years. Calling Williams homeless feels inaccurate after considering the length of time she’s lived in her well-decorated room. At least 40 of the current residents have lived at the shelter more than five years, said Ginny Dangola, who works in the office. The fact that the shelter is the residents’ home hits at the inherent idea of what issues cause people to be homeless in the first place. Though many of the residents collect disability and Social Security checks, the amount isn’t always enough to live in the area, Dangola said. People who didn’t work “on the books” or at all can collect a Social Security check, Dangola said, noting the lowest amount a person can collect is $720.
“How can you live in Florida on $720 a month?” Dangola asked. “We have some people here that could have left that have been here 15, 16, 17 years, but they have no interest in leaving because this has become their family and home,” Dangola said. Making a home means finding a sense of peace. The stability and meeting of basic needs allows most individuals to feel at home, after a day of work or play. Dangola said many of the residents found a safe haven at the shelter, where issues with addiction loom. “This is a safe haven for them — especially the ones who had problems with drugs and alcohol,” Dangola said. “There’s always that danger; once you’re an addict you’re always an addict.” While Dangola said most of the homeless people are in the shelter because of problems with drugs, alcohol and bad decisions, Ken Grippo, who also works in the office, said many of the chronically homeless don’t want to live anywhere other than under a train trestle or in a cardboard box. Grippo hit his own hard times when the recession destroyed his business in 2008. “A lot of these people driving Lexus and Mercedes cars don’t realize that they’re one or two checks away from being homeless,” Grippo said. He came to the Homeless Voice shelter
in need of its services, and he worked his way back up to self-sustainment. “All I needed was a pack of cigarettes and a place to lay my head,” he said. When Grippo turned 62, he took an early retirement and now works as both an employee as well as a volunteer at the shelter. Another resident turned employee, Rodney Messer, said he keeps a backpack with clothes in it. He, too, has a space and a room to call his own within the shelter. “Home is my own place,” he said. “My own room where I sleep, where I put my stuff.” In the laundry room outside Room 205, Williams proudly showed off the jewelry she purchased from JTV, the jewelry television channel. “I bought a bigger pair first, but I don’t wear them that often,” she said showing off her second biggest pair of earrings, which she wore in her ears. Even the shelter founder, Sean Cononie, has the items he calls home. “My cigarettes,” he said, laughing. The back of his golf cart has a stuffed dog passenger, which Cononie said he recently picked up. A sense of comfort and family pervades the long-time residents. They may be homeless, but the items they carry with them and the connections they make to each other act as ties keeping them at home.
Dried flowers, baskets and assorted items adorn the walls of Room 205, where three ladies made a home within a shelter.
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HOMELESS Voice
Off the street and 22
The
Oct. 2014
into the kitchen: Shelter cooks discuss lessons learned
Story: Lakeidra Chavis, University of Alaska Fairbanks Photo: Stephanie Mason, Florida International University
Breakfast to dinner, the homeless shelter on North Federal Highway is always changing its menu, but the staff remains a constant. The Coalition of Service and Charity, better known as COSAC, makes about 14 commercial grade pans of food for meals, according to kitchen monitor and shelter resident Vincent Macrina. Macrina accepted the job five years ago and has worked on and off since. He learned to cook from his grandmother and mom when he was younger, but working in the kitchen wasn’t intentional. “When I got here, I didn’t really have cooking on my mind,” Macrina said. After speaking with the previous kitchen monitor, he decided to give it a try. He acknowledged that the job can be aggravating since he’s accountable if something goes wrong. Another thing that frustrates Macrina is when someone wastes food, as some clients can’t handle the big portions or simply do not want to eat. “I get really mad,” Marcrina said. “I sit there and cook all day and watch people sit there and just throw it away. It gets me really upset.” Macrina begins dinner prep at 11 a.m. and works until service is finished, around 7 p.m. The food options range from steak, chicken and pork, with sides of mashed potatoes and mixed vegetables. Food is donated from various organizations around town, including the local Food Bank and Winn-Dixie. Food that’s leftover is given to the
homeless on the street. Despite working eight hours a day on a chronically swollen ankle, Macrina is a self-described workaholic. But he doesn’t do it all in the kitchen by himself. Volunteers help out, whether they’re people looking for community service or are court-mandated. Other shelter residents work in the kitchen too, including Miami-native Larry Murphy, who has 13 years of restaurant experience. He helps prepare bag lunches for residents to take to work. This is his second year working in the COSAC kitchen. Murphy said the joy he receives from his job comes from within. Macrina couldn’t define what makes him come back day after day, instead he attributed it to a little bit of stubbornness. But the kitchen is a place of consistency in a world that can be anything but. Both men are compensated a small amount for working there and have set hours—if they follow the rules. For Macrina, a former alcohol and crack cocaine addict, it’s where he learned the value of money. He recalled how shelter co-founder, Sean Cononie, once burned a $100 bill to exemplify how Macrina was burning his money away by spending it on drugs. “There’s times when I had more money when I was using [drugs] than I do when I’m not [using drugs],” Macrina said, “but a good day without drugs is better than most days.”
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Outreach
24
The
HOMELESS Voice
Oct. 2014
Shelter staff reaches out to homeless on the street On the night of Aug. 31, Linda Lampert was on a mission. She had been living in the homeless shelter for five months and knew a man who slept in a thicket of sea grapes near Dania Beach. She disappeared into the thicket while COSAC shelter staff stood by. The group regularly goes on such excursions to coax homeless men and women who sleep outdoors to come to the shelter. “It’s a psychological game of chess, a different chess game. Tryin’ to convince someone you have something better for them,” said Ron Gauthier, operations staff member at COSAC, who was homeless at one point. “Ultimately, the choice is theirs.”
‘At least you’ve done something.’ Gauthier has driven on outreach trips nine of the ten years he’s worked with COSAC. He’ll make four or five trips a year, and has varying success in getting people off the streets. Sometimes, especially in colder months, he’ll convince them to come into the shelter. He said most only stay a night, but that’s enough time to get fresh clothes, a meal, a hot shower and a night’s sleep. “It’s worth it because we got someone off the street,” Gauthier said. Most shelter residents come in on their own volition, but Gauthier said the point of outreach is to make sure those further from the shelter know that it exists. “All you can do is give them the same opportunity as the ones who walk in of the street,” Gauthier said. “At least you’ve done something.” Gauthier has had enough shelter jobs
to fill a resume. As a shelter resident, he worked as a Homeless Voice vendor and ran the kitchen. He later kept track of van maintenance and began driving the ambulance. He’s stuck with his ambulance driving job, even after leaving the shelter and moving into his own place. The ambulance is a tippy old thing with shoddy circuitry. The air conditioning rattles away but blows no cool air. Lights in the back turn on and off at random. Sometimes, the ambulance’s emergency lights flash too. Gauthier is only authorized to turn on the lights on for real emergencies like natural disasters. But they flickered a couple times when he was on the road. At one point, a line of cars at a red light began pulling to the side. He said driving the ambulance and doing outreach is a way of giving back to a shelter that once helped him. And even if outreach rarely results in new clients, Gauthier said he plans on continuing with the work for the rest of his life. “It’s not a game of winning or losing,” Gauthier said of getting people off the streets. “It’s a game of believing and trusting that you’re doing the right thing.”
‘Sick and tired of being sick and tired’ In one of the vans tailing the ambulance, Andrew and Alex Johnson traded jokes heavy with thickened vowels and trailing consonants. The two met six years ago in the shelter and bonded over shared experiences: both men are veterans of homelessness. They come from rough backgrounds — drugs, crime and broken families.
Oct. 2014
The
HOMELESS Voice
Story: Claire Boston, University of Missouri Farhin Lilywala, Georgia Perimeter College Melhor Marie Leonor, Florida International University Sean Stewart-Muniz, University of Florida Nicole Wiesenthal, University of Florida Photos: Ellen Eldridge, Kennesaw State University
Both have been on and off the streets for decades. After working off their rent at the shelter and earning their driver’s licenses from the state, Andrew and Alex decided to help those much like their former selves. Andrew battled a crack addiction that led to his homelessness in the 1980s. The drug continued to haunt him as he passed in and out of homeless shelters, never staying for longer than a few weeks. His brother introduced him to drugs after their mother died, and his addiction to crack started soon after. He said the vans he drives now didn’t reach deep enough into the ghetto to bring him help — but he wasn’t ready for it anyway. He said many homeless people feel the same and refuse aid when the shelter’s vans pull up. Some want independence, others don’t want to risk easy access to drugs. The biting loneliness led him to seek help. After what was left of his family turned its back on him for stealing a TV and cash from their house, he had no place to go and no one to turn to. “No family, no football, no basketball,” Andrew said. Alex took addiction to the next step — he started selling crack. It was easy money, and with family deaths causing flare-ups for his schizophrenia, it kept him funded while he was on the streets. But a roughly seven-year prison sentence for a probation violation convinced him to try a more honest path. “I was sick and tired of being sick and tired,” he said. After frequenting the government-run shelters in Broward County, he found
a home at COSAC, a shelter run by the formerly homeless. Now Andrew and Alex work as a team to bring people off the same streets that fed their addictions.
‘They’re more comfortable where they are’ Lampert herself was found on one of these excursions. She was laying on top of a piece of cardboard near a tree sleeping and wary that somebody would steal her belongings. “Honey, you don’t know who’s going to rob you, take your shoes,” Lampert said. “You think you’re gonna [find me] in the woods? Nope. Heavens no!” After many nights outdoors, she learned how to survive. “Rule number one: you always sit in a crowd,” Lampert said. The man she was looking for the night of Aug. 31, known to everyone as Alfie, was part of her crowd. They partnered for a while, but when it got cold last winter, she decided to get in the van and go to the shelter. At the time, he refused. “They’re more comfortable where they are,” Lampert said. This time, she hoped he would change his mind. After ten minutes within the dark bushes and with the team standing by, Lampert emerged with Alfie on her trail. “I just told him, ‘come,’” Lampert said. He was leaning on a walker, graying, and exuding a foul smell. She was cautious about letting the staff speak to him, fearful he would change his mind. In the end, Alfie chose to not stay.
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The
HOMELESS Voice
Oct. 2014
Faces of the shelter
Photos: Bria Granville, Western Kentucky University The amount of homeless people that stay at the COSAC homeless shelter in Hollywood, FL varies day by day, but some residents choose to stay for years. This series is a quick glance at some of the faces that make the shelter.
Virginia “Ma� Beechem
Richard M. Drewery
Lynn Williams
Reynolds Vincent
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