Under the radar people who inhabit the world you don’t notice .
Isabella Reid
A special thanks to my mother Natalie, because without you, this would not have been possible (for real!).
A Brief History.
To the reader, When it came to writing, I never envisioned I would be writing a piece about someone who, for a brief time , influenced the way I see the world and myself in it. It took a lot of time for me to write this, wondering how it should be composed and structured, and whether anyone would actually care at all- but in the end I have decided to allow myself to just write and tell the tale of a young man who’s life has been filled with twists and turns and unfortunate endings- a man named Jon. After reading a piece written by Alexander Masters*, I learnt that good writing involves nothing but the truth and words spoken from the heart. Jon makes this very easy for me, but also very hard because this can also involve a lot of personal loss. I met Jon in Summer 2018, and whilst our interaction has not been long term, I have decided (with his permission) to tell his story, and to hopefully change the way just a few of you look at other human beings from the street. At 28 years of age he had already experienced violence, sadness and loneliness, but he had not lost sight of his integrity and creativity, even up until the last time I saw him. From, Isabella.
For Jon.
“What am I most afraid of? the night-time.”
One of the first things my mother said to me when we initially met Jon was that when she looked at him, she saw someone’s son. These words have stuck in my mind through every meeting I have had with him, because that is what I saw also. Behind the incredibly oversized hat and overgrown facial hair, I saw a young man so sheilded from the world around him, that his clothes almost swallowed him whole. It all started at around 9pm on a weekday. Walking home from a night out, my mum and I noticed Jon in the middle of town. Average height, but underweight and incedibly distinctive, there was something unique behind his eyes. Sadly my town has its fair share of homeless people, but Jon caught my eye. It’s funny because we are told that we are drawn to people for a particular reason- now I have never seen evidence of this comment before, but now I can see that it could be possible, for I had an urge to approach Jon that night, and I never really realised the impact it would have on my own life. We asked him for his story, to which I must admit he was very reluctant to give. Telling us that he ‘was waiting for a friend’ and that he ‘really just needed a place to stay’, he sounded very vague and awfully cautious of what we may think of his answers. His voice had a unique tone (which I later discovered was a French/Romanian accent) which was soft and also seemed vulnerable. Now these kind of books always begin with a sob story of some sort, but I have to tell you, whilst I was disturbed by Jon’s situation, I really did not know much about him personally. But I wanted to understand how he could end up on the street. I guess
what I am trying to say is Jon really was just a normal guy. He was not ‘off his nut’ asking for money, nor was he sat on a street corner using an old Mcdonalds milkshake cup as a coin collector, he kept himself to himself and was trying to live in a world which obviously had rejected him. He was just somebodys son in a small town down on his luck. The glares, the comments and the muttering from passers by as I shook Jon’s hand gave me a TINY glimpse of what he had to go through everyday, my faith in humanity crumbled significantly.
When it comes to homelessness, I haven’t been blind- none of us are ‘blind’ to it really are we? Some may choose to be, but its strange how we are almost just acustomed to it, its just a part of life. Walking through town on my way to work I would see large groups huddled together with a can in each hand discussing their days. Quite loud, men and women in the same spot every single day, I can almost write to you their exact agenda’s for their days, and exactly what they will be wearing as I walk past them. Spice is the devils drug, creating zombies in our streets, too out of it to even know their own names- but do I blame them? No. When it comes to my own opinions on homelessness, I am very strong in my beliefs. If I was homeless of course I would run at the chance to spend a day off my head on any substance I could afford, and for this reason alone I can only hope my life never gets to that stage. I have never understood predjudice against homelessness, and I don’t think I ever will. People who frown and look down on those who choose to spend their money on drink or drugs when they have nothing really left to live for, really do not understand the complications of that life. Now, If I had £10 to my name and could choose a meal deal and a mars bar which would last 10 minutes, or a gram of spice that would last 10 hours, I know for a fact I would choose the latter. It is wrong to dictate what people spend their money on, and with mental health being a large factor within homelessness, and lack of hope, how can those born into privilage judge those who have suffered in life? I hear comments all the time about homelessness. I have came to the conclusion that some people find it easier to dehumanise a person living rough. I have also come to the conclusion that, there is no excuse for being a class A twat.
I guess it is imperative for me to discuss the way Jon lookedwhile in the grand scheme of things, this is unimportant, his apperance captured my imagination. I could see that underneath the filth of the street there was a young handsome man. Wearing autuminal colours in the middle of Summer,this juxtaposition continued as he wore layers after layers of clothing, shielding his skinny frame which lay beneath it. I noticed he bulked his clothes up with old newspapers and ‘rubbish’, and I could only assume this was to stay warm. His most distinctive item was his large beanie hat. This hat almost covered his eyes, which was interesting and probably intentional, because it really wasn’t until later on when I fully saw his beaten up face, and it wasn’t until then that I realised how young and vulnerable he was. His jeans hung low due to his tiny frame, exposing his underwear and occassionally even his legs. His trainers were incredibly beaten up and had obviously seen better days. When I first saw Jon I was desperate to photograph him, however I was unsure whether he would be okay with this, and I was constantly toying with the morality of it all. Jon was not a ‘freakshow’ or a ‘subject’, he was a human being that I wanted to show to the world in a positive light- but would he see it in this way? Eventually this urge was something I could not ignore, so after weeks of seeing him sleep outside the council building across the road from where I worked and leaving him food, I took the plunge one evening on my break and asked him. He said yes. This was the start of a beautiful and compelling friendship which led to the making of this book. Someone had left a hotdog at work and said I could have it, so I decided to ask my manager if I could give it to Jon. She said yes. I had permission , however I was told that I could not go alone. Whilst I appreciated and understood the sense of this, I could not help but feel disheartened that I would need extra security just to approach another human being- one which did not threaten me at all.
‘Dont talk to strangers’Dont talk to strangers’Dont talk to strangers’Dont talk to strangers’Dont talk to strangers’Dont talk to strangers’Dont talk to strangers’Dont talk to strangers’Dont talk to strangers’Dont talk to strangers’Dont talk to strangers’Dont talk to strangers’Dont talk to strangers’Dont talk to strangers’Dont talk to strangers’
is what you get told from birth, but here I was talking to a complete stranger. After offering him the hot dog I was suprised that he politely refused it. I assumed this was for religious reasons, but I was wrong. I found out later that on a trip to Romania he had eaten what he thought was pork but turned out to be dog meat, which turned him off pork for life. Whilst one member of staff commented ‘I guess beggers CAN be choosers’ after hearing his refusal. I actually gained more respect for Jon myself. He was hungry, starving in fact, and he refused a meal which could have made his night. That shows integrity and morality, two qualities which Jon , even to this day, has. I almost forgot to mention that Jon did actually ask me for something that day, juice. That word, that request really stuck with me, it was such a simple thing, so that night I bought the biggest juice I could find and the very next day I left it in his spot for him to find in a plastic bag labelled ‘To Jon, From Izzy’. This trend of leaving gifts continued right up until the very last time I saw Jon. I believe it is important to be kind to everyone, even if you don’t see how far your kindness goes. I don’t know if Jon saw everything I left for him, I don’t know if he even recieved it all, but I can only hope that what he did find made his life that little bit easier, that little bit better, and that little bit happier- even if it was just for another day.
“If I could paint a perfect world it would have more love.”
On his 28th he received his one and only card -from me.
After a couple of meetings with Jon, I gained his trust and asked him whether I could photograph him and write about his experiences, not only on the street, but in life itself. I thought it was important that my project did not only focus on his unfortunate times, but his happy times also, as well as finding out more about his personality and passions in life. Whether Jon was homeless or not, I always said that because of his unique look I would have wanted to photograph him regardless. To my suprise Jon agreed to this project which has led me to where I am today. I say I was suprised, and I mean this, because Jon was a very quiet soul, and due to his introverted nature, I believed that perhaps he would have liked his privacy, but Jon always proved me wrong. One Summers evening at around 10pm, I sat by the council offices where he slept and spoke to him for almost 3 hours. It was strange because it was almost as if time had stopped in that particular spot, and I recall commenting on just how peaceful it was. Before interviewing Jon I took note of his surroundings. A red blanket laid on the ground, hundreds of newspaper clippings, cigarette boxes and old food packets creating a sea of ‘junk’ around him. But the most important item which I saw in the corner of my eye, right by his leg was a cup which read ‘To Jon, from Izzy’. My eyes almost filled with tears at the thought of him keeping such an item. I remember commenting on this to him, to which he replied ‘I’ll always remember you Izzy, and I will always keep what you have given me.’ It was actually then when I first felt the friendship between us blossoming, and it was then when I felt warmth in my heart towards him. It is imperative for me to point out that throughout this night I never ONCE felt intimidated, scared, or afraid of Jon’s presence, and I am telling the complete truth when I say I don’t think I ever will. This night was the most important night we had together, as I learnt a lot about his life.
Pages from my journal after my interview with Jon
I asked Jon where he was from, and he told me he was Romanian, Austrian and French by heritage. He came to England for a job interview from France, however was unsuccessful, thus leaving him on the streets. When questioned about returning back to France, he told me he wouldn’t because of his father. I did not question this further because I could see he was uncomfortable and I did not want to pry. This was key in my interview with Jon, and I think this is why we got along so well- I knew his limits, and I also knew my own. What really shocked me was that Jon was in fact 27 years of age at that time. I could not comprehend how sombody just a few years older than me had ended up with no place to call home. I don’t think I can comprehend it even now. Jon’s obssession with collecting scraps of newspaper from the ground, and cigarette packets from bins really intruiged me and so my next question to him was ‘Why do you collect so much stuff? Is it for memories?’ to which he replied; ‘Architecture, I like the pictures- the designs’. When asking him why he collected so many newspaper clippings he told me that he enjoys reading the love stories and stories of hope and happiness. I think that will always stay with me, because it proves that all people really want is to be loved. As the conversation continued I learnt little trivial things about Jon, he loves Drum & Bass music, believes the relationshp between maths and art is beautiful, and he believed himself to be an underachiever. I asked him - could he go back home? But he said ‘my father said it was time to go, he didn’t want me there anymore.’ I never pushed Jon for more answers, nor did I mind if he stopped speaking completely, I just appreciated his time in the first place, and I will treasure this day forever, for it was the catalyst for our friendship, and eventually, the companionship we shared. Jon spoke so elequantly and honestly, I remember not wanting to leave him, but unfortunately I had to go.
“I am passionate, love history, but have underachieved.�
I thought he wore earphones for musical purposes, until I realised they were not attached to anything. It was an act.
Over time, I noticed a big difference in the way my fellow collegues approached Jon- when we encountered him during work time. This made me realise that my conversations made a difference to their attitudes. Jon had gone from the scary homeless man who went through the bins and frightened the staff to just ‘Jon’. I am glad they saw him as a person and he was not dehumanised anymore. He had a name. I can only hope a part of Jon saw this difference too, because its the least that he deserved. Jon always had so much respect for people around him- I never saw him begging. I recall once I was stood with a collegue who was smoking outside. Jon came over to speak to me, took one look at my collegues full box of cigarettes (which you could tell he really wanted one from), glanced at me and walked away. It may seem insignificant to some, but it was small things like that, that Jon did, which showed his respect for me (although may I add- I would not have cared whether he asked for one or not, in fact I was dying to snatch the box and give it all to him myself). He never wanted to embarrass me in any way in front of my collegues, least of all get me in any kind of trouble.
Jon 2018
Time had passed, and I continued to keep seeing Jon when I could, and after taking photographs of him and interviewing him in the night, I decided it would be nice to also photograph him with natural light. But this was more difficult as I was unsure on where Jon went during the day- he was almost nocturnal. I did not let this stop me though, and before I began my shift I walked around delving into alley ways- I found his belongings behind a hospital building. At first I thought it was just a load of blankets and bags, and perhaps Jon was someplace else, however I soon realised that he was underneath it all, laid on the ground with his life long possessions swallowing him. Holding back tears I called out for him to which he leaped up and said with a huge smile on his face- ‘Is that you Izzy?’. I remember my mother actually saying to me that, this small moment melted her heart, and it melted mine too. With a bag full of juice and cereal bars for protein I had more chats with Jon, and took more photographs. Seeing him in the daylight brought home to me just how impoverished Jon was. I could clearly see the condition of his clothing and what I had previously not noticed were his injuries. His face was badly beaten but he hid it as well as he could. This alleyway seemed completely seperate from the rest of the world. Nazi symbols and National Front spraypaint cast a shadow over where Jon lay, and I couldn’t help but think if he was ever in trouble no one would care. But I understand why he chose that spot, I understood that he wanted to step away from the world around him, even for a few hours. The eyes of security cameras watched over his spot like the eyes of Big Brother. This also unnerved me, and was ironic because whilst he was being watched, he wasn’t being helped at all. The sad reality was though that summer would soon be over, and my mother and I kept saying to eachother ‘What will he do in winter?’. In the end we could not take the worry any longer, so my mother rang a homeless charity and hyperthetically explained Jon’s situation to them, in which they said that if we brought him in, they could help him. We were elated, and I could not even sleep that night because I was so desperate to tell Jon the good news.
Jon and I that very day
The next day we went to find Jon and persuade him to come to the shelter with us. My mother told me about her journey to the homeless shelter, this is what she said: ‘We set off down the highstreet initially at a brisk pace. However, it became obvious that our trip was going to take some time because Jon had to keep stopping. I hadn’t realised how bad his shoes were, I knew they were rough but they were actually held together with elastic bands and every step he took caused the sole to come loose. He had to keep putting his shoe back together whilst I stood by pretending to look everywhere but his feet. I noticed we were getting strange looks from passers by, I sort of expected that as Jon looks different. However what I wasn’t expecting was the actual cruelty of the comments directed at him. As we made our way down the busy street the crowd literally parted like the parting of the red sea. People tried desperately to avoid us and some rudely exclaimed at the smell or made sounds of disgust. This made me feel incredibly angry and I made sure I stuck closely to Jon’s side and chatted loudly to him to try and draw his attention away from what people where saying. Jon stared stoically ahead and did not react to the taunts. Depressingly, it was obvious he was used to it. I tried staring defiantly at the odd person who said something particulaly nasty and usually they looked away. My only moment of feeling actually afraid was when a tall muscular young man with preppy clothes and blonde hair came right up to us and shouted in Jon’s face.
“Take that fucking hat off you dirty skank!” He shouted. His face was contorted with fury. I looked at him in shock and he turned on me and said ;
“What the fuck do you think you’re going to do about it?” My automatic response was to say what I thought of him but I quickly realised that a confrontation would only make things worse for Jon. Even if the man didn’t actually hit me, who knows what would have happened later if he had encounterd Jon somewhere else. I kept my mouth shut and copied Jon, looking at the floor and walking away. Satisfied that he’d achieved his bit of misery the man left us alone. It made me feel sad and confused that someone would want to kick someone who was already clearly about as down as a person could be. What makes someone so full of anger that they get pleasure from humiliating another human being? I will never understand. After what seemed like an age we got to the shelter I was full of hope that Jon would get some help of some kind. The person I had spoken to on the phone had sounded so positive and helpful. Even when Jon had expressed doubts that anyone would be interested in his situation I had convinced him that this was a good idea. The minute the door opened I began to have misgivings. The plump lady who answered the door looked blankly at us and asked what we wanted. I didn’t know where to start, what do you say? ‘Here’s a homeless person, help them?’ I began by explaining that I had phoned up previously and been told to bring the homeless individual to the shelter. Reluctantly, we were admitted to an office at the front of the building. Once inside, a steely-eyed woman looked us up and down from her seat and desk and folded her arms. Without any pleasantries she exclaimed “We’ve seen you before! Havent we?” Jon looked at the floor.
He seemed to want to be anywhere at that moment and I was starting to feel the same way. “We’ve seen you before, and we talked about drugs didn’t we Jon?” she continued. “You know very well you don’t qualify for any benefits” Her tone had no compassion and reminded me of a school mistress who was out of patience. “We told you we can’t do anything for you”. I felt I needed to remind her I was in the room. “Excuse me” I said, “but could you explain to me why you won’t help him please?” She turned to me not hiding her irritation. “We have a zero tolerance approach to substance abuse. I can’t elaborate, but we can’t help him.” I wanted to know more. “I would assume” I said “that the majority of homeless people are involved with some sort of substance abuse? If you won’t help him where is he supposed to go?” She smiled at me coldly; “What exactly do you mean?” “Well, does he just die on the street?” for a second she looked uncomfortable. “Well, there might be some outreach places that will see him you’ll have to look into those.” she turned to Jon, “You are the same person who came in February?” Jon stared into space with his earphones firmly lodged in his ears. I knew that he behaved like this when embarrassed or stressed. However, this woman would not give up. “Take those earphones out or you obviously can’t hear what I’m saying” she said. She didn’t know that Jon’s earphones are only that- earphones connected to nothing, he could hear her perfectly well. I realised it was time to go. “Come on Jon” I said, “I’m sorry mate there’s nothing to be had here.” We walked out and up the street and I realised with sinking heart we still had to run the gauntlet back up the high street. And it had all been for nothing. I wasn’t looking forward to seeing Izzy’s hopeful expression and have to tell her we’d let Jon down.’
‘In ten years time I want to be settled you know, I want a family’
Whilst my mother took Jon to the shelter, I promised I would keep his lifelong belongings safe. I felt blessed that Jon specifically asked me to look after his posessions, it showed how our friendship was real, and he really did trust me with his life. I realised later that he often left his things when he went off on his own, and making me stay was a way of preventing me from seeing and experiencing the abuse he suffered on the streets daily. When we asked Jon why he could not just leave his stuff there, he told us that people take it, people hide it, and people bin it. This upset me deeply, I just can’t understand why somebody would purposefully sabotage a homeless mans only posessions, the only things that he has in the world. Waiting with his stuff I felt terrified. all my senses were heightened and I could hear crowds of youths shouting as they walked by. I remember saying to myself, ‘If this is how I feel now, how must Jon feel daily? ’. Suddenly everything made sense to me and why he did not sleep in this spot at night- he was terrified of being attacked. The alleyway felt seperate from the rest of the world but people could still walk down it and the threat was always there. Its narrow walls felt like they were closing in. It was both claustrophic and exposed. The smell, I will never forget the smell. And the most ironic thing about this area was that it was actually behind a hospital, behind a place which is supposed to keep you safe, however safe was the last thing I felt. Minutes felt like hours and whilst I waiting for my mother and Jon, I sat with his stuff impatiently. I can’t lie, I was tempted to go through and see what Jon had collected, but I respected his privacy too much, so I made it my focus to keep my eye on it.
My mother and I could not shake the disapointment from the homeless shelter. So we decided to take matters into our own hands, and whilst we could not house or dramatically change Jon’s life, we figured we could do small things to make his life that little bit easier. When walking to the shelter, my mother asked Jon what size shoe he was and what brands he likes. He said he loved Firetrap and he was a size 9, so that night, we bought him some Firetrap boots and a bag full of Firetrap clothes. Checkered shirt, belted jeans, we stuck to Jons style. I could not sleep that night with the excitement of how Jon may feel when recieving such a gift. But this was not the ‘heroic grand reveal’ you see online, when we turned up to give him his gift, Jon was unconscious. I was so frightened because I honestly thought he was dead. Shouting his name, louder and louder we approached his lifeless body. My mother shook him, no response. We checked his pulse and looked around us, we knew what had happened. The syringes, the spoons, his belongings all over the floor, Jon was intoxicated by drugs. This was a big shock because we had not seen Jon in this way before, and I had seen him a lot, and 99% of the times I saw him, it was unplanned, therefore there were many other times he could have been drugged up. It is so important for me to add that this situation did not make me see Jon in a different light, nor did I judge or feel more afraid of him as a person- the only thing I felt was worry, because he was so vulnerable when in that state. Knowing that there was absolutely no way he would wake up we made sure he was breathing., I left the shoes and bags beside him, slightly covering them up with his blanket ot ensure nobody would steal them. I hoped so badly that he would regain consciousness soon, and perhaps this would be a nice suprise, but I did not know for sure whether he would be okay, my mind was filled with anxiety that day, I remember the worry so well.
Obviously, I could not ignore the incident that day, so I went back to this alleyway to see whether he was back to normal. To my relief he was awake, and the area had been cleaned. I asked him whether he saw the clothes to which he replied ‘I couldn’t believe it, I closed my eyes and a second later they were there!’ He stuttered a lot as he continued ‘I will never forget you all my life, I will always remember what you have done for me’. He seemed incredibly sincere. I told him that we had found him passed out earlier that day and couldn’t rouse him. He seemed embarrassed and apologised profusely. I then went on to explain that I was going away for some time, and that I would see him as soon as I was back. I’m not sure if he understood completely, but there was nothing more I could have said.
‘I will never forget you all my life, I will always remember what you have done for me.’
During my trip away, I recieved 2 messages, both telling me that Jon had came into my place of work looking for me, and asking for somebody to book him a taxi. I was actually very optimistic when I discovered this, because I thought perhaps he had found his happy ending. I have later found out more about what happened, and have been told by a work colleague that he was acting pretty irationally and didn’t want to leave the premises on discovering I wasn’t there. This came as a shock to me, considering how little human contact Jon usually had, he avoided situations like that. I was very concerned, because I couldn’t help but think he would not have done this unless he was desperate. I wondered what on earth had happened. Coming home from my trip almost two weeks later, I exited the train station feeling both depressed and tired. Its strange because Jon was the main thing on my mind whilst exiting the station, and he just so happened to be the first person I saw. I went over to him and called his name, he asked me, ‘Who are you?’. This was the moment that shocked me, Jon didn’t appear to be the same Jon I knew before I left. He looked more haggered and tired, and he couldn’t even lift his head to see who was speaking to him. I walked away, holding back tears, and waited for my mother to pick me up. As I looked back it struck me that I had never seen someone look so sad and lonely in my whole life. When my mother arrived, I walked to her car and Jon started shouting for me and running over, we were on a busy road and had to park so I told him to wait for me on the other side of the road, but he seemed irratic and stressed, and was simply not listening to a word I was saying. ‘Wait over there Jon!’ I yelled, and it hurt me to be so harsh, but he had to wait if he needed me. After parking up, I immediately left the car and went over to Jon. He was sat on his belongings and again, he refused to lift his head. It was almost as if I had betrayed him, or thought I had perhaps just given up on him. I tried to explain but he seemed not to hear me. And Jon if you’re reading, I apologise for that.
Every question I asked, everything I said, he was not very responsive. And this lack of response kind of appeared purposeful, and I don’t think I will ever know why. I gave him £5 so that he could get back to our hometown if he wanted, but if i’m honest he appeared so lost and sad, I didn’t know what he would do with it. The ironic thing about this situation, is as my mother and I got back into a car, a police car drove up, dropped somebody off and drove away- they did not even care to ask if Jon was okay, or in any danger. This is what I spoke about earlier, people appear ‘blind’ to the homeless to make themselves feel better. People choose to ignore those in need, like they are just part of the scenery. But it really does anger me when those in authority ignore those in need, they have no excuse. Nobody really does. How can I describe how I felt that whole car journey home and now? I would say the main feeling I feel is sadness. Sad because I could not help Jon in ways I wish I could. Sad because towards the end Jon appeared in a worse state than at the start. Sad because the last time I saw Jon I did not give him a hug. But most of all I feel sad because I have had to leave a friend with no place to call home. As I reflect back at that very moment exiting the train station and seeing Jon, my heart hurts and my eyes water because something just felt different. It felt like Jon was distant from the world, not physically, but mentally and this was my biggest fear for him. I can only hope he remembers our friendship and the journey we took and my intentions with him. I think deep down he does, but I also think he is so lost that his mind is distracted by the worries of the world. As I conclude this book, my final thoughts are will I cross paths again with Jon? What will happen to him? Will my story go someway to changing attitudes to the homeless? Will there ever be more love in the world?
And finally to Jon, I don’t know if our paths will cross again, I hope they do. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more and I’m sorry there isn’t more love in the world. I admire your resilience your integrity and your ability to stay positive in the worst of circumstances. I hope you get the family you dream of, and I hope you achieve everything you deserve. If you’re reading this remember you will always have a friend in me- just reach out. love from, Izz.