Homeless:

Continued From Page 4 ing through the heart of the camp.

“No roosters,” offered Brigham. “They make too much noise. The chickens are good for getting rid of the tics.”

Brigham first pointed to some water jugs that he fills regularly and then sighed as he looked at the pile of black garbage bags. He commented on the inevitability of garbage and a throw away society.

The unmistakable upset in Brigham’s voice was palpable as he began moving from tent to tent to check on those he considered part of his ministry. He explained that they each had a chance to share their stories if they wished. Despite the option of anonymity, a surprising number willingly posed for quick portraits, unreservedly offering their full names to accompany their narratives.

Bill Honeker, 63, originally from Brick, emerged from his tent, ready to provide Brigham with the details of the previous day. His bare torso revealed a chiseled six-pack, only marred by a surgical scar from a liver transplant. Fred, a sweet boxer, stood faithfully next to his master.

Honeker said he rides his bicycle to the gym regularly to work out and then showers after he’s done there. Meanwhile, a great deal of Honeker’s Social Security benefits goes to paying for his medication.

“Between food and my medication, there’s nothing left to pay for rent,” shared Honeker.

A former dock builder and plumber, Honeker said he once owned his own home, a boat, and a truck. He lost it all after a bad breakup with a girl he was supposed to marry.

“They told us yesterday that they’re trying to get everybody out of here as soon as they can,” Honeker said. “They want to level everything out and get everyone in temporary placement.”

Honeker was visibly upset as he recalled the time he and Fred were separated when Honeker landed in a temporary shelter in Asbury Park.

“Steve helped me out and I got reunited with my dog,” Honeker said. “I’ve been here since November.”

Originally from Beachwood, 55-yearold Victoria O’Connor suffered a brain aneurysm that left her paralyzed on her right side. She laughed when asked if she immigrated from England prior to moving to Ocean County.

“After my aneurysm, I started to have the accent,” chuckled O’Connor. “I wish it was Irish instead.”

O’Connor said she spent two and a half years in rehabilitation to recover from her aneurysm. After she moved in with her brother, O’Connor stated that she was tricked into leaving because of addiction issues. Although now sober for four years, O’Connor spent some time living outside the Lacey Library, facing daily interactions with the police.

A year ago, Brigham extended a lifeline by providing O’Connor with a tent, giving her a place to call her own.

Two of the tents occupied within the encampment provide shelter for families who lost their homes when the Surf and Stream Campground owners sold their property to the county government. The new owner of that Manchester property had big plans for developing it, but the county was able to buy it and make it open space. Either way, the people were kicked out.

Three cots fit together like a puzzle piece in the tent occupied by the Jamison family. Frances, 64, said she and her family lived at Surf and Stream for 19 years. A thin tube inserted into the frail woman’s nostrils led to an oxygen concentrator hooked up to a generator.

Frances, who is battling COPD and a kidney blockage, said that although she and her 72-year-old husband, Robert are separated, he lives with her as her caretaker. The couple’s 37-year-old son William nervously caressed Lulu, the family’s devoted English bulldog who was somehow squeezed into the tight space.

While mental health challenges prevent William from working, he also admitted he wanted to be there to help his ailing mother. Frances interjected by proudly calling her son a “Mama’s Boy.”

Kelly Forcier, 57, also came from the Surf and Stream campgrounds and is situated in a tent near the Jamison family. While she isn’t always hooked up to oxygen, she also relies on the generators to provide it to her when she needs it.

Despite his knowledge of the impending shut down of Surf and Stream, Forcier said the manager encouraged her to buy a new camper. COPD is just one of Forcier’s medical issues that have contributed to her totally disabled designation. Two months ago, Forcier found out there was a place for her within the encampment.

“We tried asking for help while we were there (Surf and Stream),” Forcier said. “They were going to give me a week in a hotel room. I get Social Security and could afford a hotel room through the winter, but then where? What about food?”

A white haired man with an air of distinction couldn’t say enough about how fortunate he was to find a home within the encampment. Morrow Hayes, 78, said he earned an MBA from Wharton School of Business and had a flourishing career as a commercial real estate developer.

As Hayes held onto his cherished pup, Brutus, he said that he doesn’t know what he’ll do if the encampment shuts down. He agreed to go with the social services team to the hospital to get checked out. Hayes called Brigham to pick him up upon his release from the medical facility.

“I’ve been here several months,” shared Hayes. “This would be catastrophic if things are shut down. It’s well run with no crazy behavior.”

One of the other community members walked past Hayes to agree with him. He also whispered that Hayes sometimes gets confused and can’t always find his way back to his tent.

(Homeless - See Page 12)