Will Write For Food 2012

OCTOBER 2012

HOMELESS

VOICE Help someone less fortunate than yourself today

BLOOD: Keeping it clean pg. 11 VENDORS: Selling on the streets pg. 14

OUTREACH: Playing hard to get pg. 17

He’s all but given up his health for the sake of the homeless shelter he runs.

What happens when his health gives up? pg. 15

Photo illustration by Mike rice

Legacy

STAFF BOX Co-Directors Mariam Aldhahi Michele Boyet Gideon Grudo

Editor-in-Chief

Labor of Love Instead of participating in traditional Labor Day weekend activities like going to the beach, throwing barbecues, and chugging down beers, 23 journalists from across the country spent their time at the COSAC homeless shelter.

In the span of 36 hours, writers, designers, photographers and videographers collaborated on a special edition of Homeless Voice. On arrival, we had no idea what to expect from this slightly sketchy learning opportunity. Yet, in the end, we have somehow morphed from total strangers into comrades in the 36-hour sadistically enjoyable hell we landed ourselves in.

Through different mediums, we attempted to explore the many incomprehensible obstacles that homeless people face and see how Sean Cononie, the founder and director of COSAC, does his best to see to all of his residents’ needs.

Our first task at hand: talk to the residents.

Funny, we’re able to scare the absolute crap out of our school’s administration, and yet we had trouble approaching the residents, who actually don’t give a damn about us. This experience introduced us to the simple fact that being uncomfortable is a part of being a journalist.

We threw ourselves into this challenge because we’re tough. We know how to handle ourselves. One of the writers spent a humid night in downtown Fort Lauderdale as a homeless person and found kindness when he least expected it. Another writer stayed in the command center of COSAC, observing the craziness that is the command center.

For Outreach, an event where the shelter distributes food and water supplies to the homeless, two writers met characters who refused to sleep in COSAC, despite the persuasion from the workers.

We felt a mix of optimism and pessimism, happiness and sadness. After all of this, we’re allowed to feel a bit proud of ourselves. This is not something a lot of people would do. Only crazy people would think of doing this — the best kind of crazy.

Perhaps the greatest thing about journalism is that stories will always be different and always ready for more to be said. Perhaps next year will allow a chance for others to continue the stories that we started in this issue.

The shelter goes by three different names: Coalition of Service and Charity, the Johnny McCormick Foundation and the Homeless Voice Homeless Shelter. In this issue, we’ll be referring to it as the COSAC shelter, or just COSAC.

Loan Le

Staff

Sarah Aslam University of Central Florida Bethany Barnes University of Arizona Phaedra Blaize Florida Atlantic University Chelsea Boozer University of Memphis Dylan Bouscher Florida Atlantic University Vonecia Carswell University of Florida Chase Cook University of Oklahoma Lindsey Cook University of Georgia Ryan Cortes Florida Atlantic University Valeria Delgado University of Florida Veronica Figueroa University of Central Florida Michael Finch II Florida International University Jessie Hellmann University of Southern Indiana Alysha Khan University of Miami Sarah Kinonen University of Florida Jane McInnis University of South Florida / St. Petersburg Cayla Nimmo University of Miami Eleanor Roy Stetson University Joshua Santos Flagler College Debbie Truong Syracuse University Christopher Whitten University of Memphis Sarah Williamson Flagler College

ADVISERS

hvoice.org

october 2012

Michael Koretzky Bryan Thompson Christine Capozziello Rachael Joyner-Picariello Sergio Candido Devin Desjarlais John Ensslin Erica Landau Cassie Morien Sergy Odiduro Mike Rice Dori Zinn

2

Special thanks to the Society of Professional Journalists South Florida Chapter, SPJ Region 3 and the Florida College Press Association.

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

Want to see more? Visit www.wwff2012.com for photos, blogs, videos and more Ways to donate: Web: www.homelessvoice.org/donate Mail: Cosac Foundation PO Box 292-577 Davie FL 33329 Text: "Text FAMILY to 85944 and reply YES to donate $10 from your phone bill

hvoice.org @homelessvoice http://www.facebook.com/ homelessvoice

$25 Buys a hot meal

Buys a hot meal for ten people

$50 Buys 2 bags of groceries

Buys 2 bags of groceries for a homeless family

$100

Buys Buys aa night night in in an an emergency emergency hotel hotel accomodation accomodation for for aa homeless homeless family family

www.hvoice.org | COSAC Foundation P.O. Box 292-577 | Davie, FL 33329

october 2012

Don’t Let the Doors Close on These Children

We lost the ability to sell this beautiful paper you buy on the streets helping to support the only true emergency shelter in South Florida.

Cities like Pembroke Pines, Miramar, North Miami, Cooper City and others have restricted the sale of our paper. We can only sell our paper on very small corners where we will not be able to distribute a large amount. We will sue those cities. In the mean time we may have to downsize or close our doors.

This is the time we need your help the most. This is your shelter so please help us keep your shelter open. I say yours because you have paid for all the help we give out. We are the only shelter that does not pick and choose who comes here. We take the most complex clients that the county will not let in. Records do not lie, facts do not lie. We are it. Now we need you most.

We need at least 25,000 donors to please send in a monthly pledge of $5. Check your couches, ask your friends to check their couch. Ask your friends to send in their check. Bring your friends here and let them see firsthand what we really do.

Ask the people on your block to give us their pennies. Do whatever it takes to keep us open to take that mom that comes to us with an 8 month old baby in diapers when the county said, “NO WAY!” To the churches, our number one referral source, if only 1000 of you gave us $250 per month we can not only stay in business but expand and focus on services not fundraising.

To our loyal supporters, you have my word we will fight in a court to get the streets back for they belong to the people not the city commissioners.

You have already bought our paper, now we need you to please pledge $5 to us monthly.

hvoice.org

Exhausted...

3

h e a lt h

Chronic illness not an issue for recent COSAC resident

By Eleanor Roy Stetson University

F

orty-five-year-old Timmy Pirkle has a bulging hernia on his stomach, a failing liver and kidneys and a history of alcoholism. Still, he refuses to become one of COSAC homeless shelter’s chronically homeless residents.

Sean Cononie, COSAC’s founder and director, described the shelter as a “chronic people shelter,” adding that only one in 15 people here are not considered to be chronically homeless, and will eventually become self-sufficient.

Cononie says studies show that if a person has been homeless three or more times in his or her life, then he or she is significantly more likely to remain homeless for the rest of his or her life.

But Pirkle, a shelter resident for the past 10 months, says his goal is to get a new liver and avoid becoming a member of the chronically homeless that COSAC is known for housing.

After a screaming match with a Memorial Regional Hospital doctor about being committed to hospice, Pirkle and Cononie are more determined than ever to get him back on his feet.

They also managed to get him on the liver transplant waiting list.

Pirkle says his alcohol addiction landed him in his situation.

“This is all my fault; I did it to myself. I’m not trying to blame anyone, and I’m not looking for someone to blame,” he says.

Because of his failing liver and kidneys, Pirkle’s body retains more fluid than it’s supposed to.

One time they had to drain 10 liters of fluid from Pirkle’s stomach to alleviate some of his pain, Cononie says.

Sometimes his legs will swell two to three times larger than their normal size.

“Without Sean, without my family here, I wouldn’t be alive right now,” Pirkle says, adding that he’s been sober for about 10 months.

While Pirkle’s determination is refreshing, his situation is unique here.

The majority of people at COSAC won’t be self-sufficient ever again, for various reasons. Cononie says some residents are just content with remaining homeless for the rest of their lives.

For these people, the appeal of the she lter’s strong support system outweighs the troubles of dealing with the outside world.

For others, it’s a matter of looking for a home.

“Some people have been shunned by their family,” Cononie says, adding that the shelter then becomes a permanent home for residents seeking acceptance. “If you have somebody living [with you] for 10 years, you know them. They’re part of you.”

Pirkle says he hasn’t decided what he will do after his liver transplant, but he would like to work at the shelter in the future. “I’d be like a walking testament to people,” he says.

When asked if he thinks he’ll be successful with his goals, Pirkle says “with God’s help, yes.”

Pirkle shows the hernia on his stomach, one of his many ailments caused by his alcoholism. He is awaiting a liver transplant. Photo by Sarah Williamson

“This is all my fault, I did it to myself. I’m not trying to blame anyone, and I’m not looking for someone to blame,” - Timmy Pirkle

hvoice.org

october 2012

While Pirkle’s story is unusual most COSAC residents are considered chronically homeless, and will likely live out the rest of their lives in homeless shelters. Below are three residents that consider this shelter to be their home. Photos by Joshua Santos

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Lynn Williams, 65

Virginia Beacher, 86

Originally from South Carolina

Originally from Virginia

Resident for five years “My husband passed away, and I ended up here by myself.”

Resident for five years “I just walked in … I ain’t got no other home, baby.”

Lynn plans to stay here long-term.

Virginia says she doesn’t plan to leave.

Daniel Burton, 27 Originally from Southern California Resident for two years “I was really lucky.”

Daniel plans to leave in the next few months, but admits that the shelter may have to be his home for a little longer. The staff believes he will be here long-term.

Perceptions

Homeless photographers capture their world on film

By Sarah Williamson Flagler College

A

t first I was skeptical when I decided to hand out disposable cameras to homeless men and women. Would they be willing to take the photos? Would they sell them on the street instead? I would understand if they did.

Hours later, I was proven wrong. They gave me six quality photos and many lessons along with them. Who knew?

Ruben Colon, 29, showed up at the shelter two days ago after he lost housing. He never told me why. When I told him about my project, he said, “He wouldn’t waste his photos.” Every time I saw him that afternoon he was waiting. He didn’t tell one person to pose.

Ruben Colon, 29

told me her age. She told me that everyone around her dies. She has lost both sets of grandparents, parents, and her 19-year-old daughter.

I signed a photograph she took of me as we sat in a parking lot looking at her work. “I feel like I made a friend,” she said to me, smiling. I silently hoped that wasn’t a death wish.

Sometimes as reporters we must take a step back. We must not rush.

I did not stay with the three photographers while they shot. I did not give them any rules. I told them simply to explore and to show me their lives.

They became the artists. This story is theirs.

“I took this picture and got him by surprise because it shows a place you can have shelter.”

“A place you can go and be yourself.”

There are no captions provided by Tim Pirkle due to his hospital admittance.

Ramona Montayne “50’s”

“Tim coming from the kitchen once again — he eats a lot.”

“This shows a typical day hanging in the room watching sports.”

hvoice.org

october 2012

Tim Pirkle, 45

This is a lesson many photographers forget— especially in the work place. We often put too much pressure on ourselves working on a deadline. Ruben wasn’t on a schedule. Most homeless people aren’t and there’s a beauty to this.

Tim Pirkle, 45, has been in the shelter for ten months. His photos are precise. None are blurry.

I tried to give him his prints that evening and was told by a staff member that he was in the hospital.

Tim suffers from a severe hernia larger than three fists that I had the “pleasure” of shooting earlier.

He was the first to finish his roll of film.

The last photographer, Ramona Montayne, never

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h e a lt h

Homeless care for the man with a home

The shelter residents aren’t the only ones who have made poor decisions

By Chase Cook University of Oklahoma

S

ean Cononie built COSAC homeless shelter to help those no one wanted to deal with.

Now some of those people are trying to save the shelter’s founder from his own choices, even though he’s a man WHO can’t be told what to do.

“I do feel that one of these days I will come in and he won’t wake up,” said Chris Padilla, COSAC’s head of security.

Padilla ended up at the shelter after he left his parents’ home and stole from the store where he was employed.

That was a year and six months ago.

While it isn’t in his job description, Padilla urges Cononie to ease up on smoking.

“He will smoke one, and then another five minutes later another, then another five minutes later light up another,” Padilla said.

Cononie hasn’t quit yet, but he says he is definitely trying to cut back.

COSAC assistant director Mark Targett says he’s doing much better.

“Cononie used to smoke as many as four packs of cigarettes a day,” Targett said.

Targett is familiar with addiction. He once overdosed after taking OxyContin. He’s been clean for eight years and now pushes Cononie to scale back on his cigarette addiction.

But Cononie’s health has continued to deteriorate over the years.

Even in his sleep he is vulnerable.

Cononie suffers from sleep apnea and has to wear a mask at night to make sure his body receives enough oxygen. When he’s having really bad days, his staff keeps watch and makes sure his heart doesn’t stop beating.

In an attempt to alleviate his health problems, Cononie has cut back on cigarettes and tries to exercise every day. He is down to about a pack and a half per day, and he tries to visit doctors at least once a week.

Targett is also trying to get Cononie to eat healthier.

Once he brought him an egg white omelet from a local diner so that Cononie would be motivated to eat healthier food.

Cononie’s staff has seen some signs of improvement, but there’s still more to be done.

“He tries, he does his best,” Targett said. “[But] whatever he is doing is not working.”

One thing that Cononie hasn’t really cut back on is his work.

There is a lot of stress working at COSAC, Cononie’s assistant Mike O’Hara said.

Cononie always has a list of tasks to complete and doesn’t take much time for himself. O’Hara joked that if Cononie were to buy his own place to relax or live in — he lives in his office — he would install security cameras and watch his new home from the shelter.

“He gets to the point where he is like ‘This place is going to kill me.’ Then he comes back and works 10 to 12 hours.”

His compassion for helping his residents means that his life can sometimes be a last priority.

Whether he gets healthy or not, he will more than likely die in his command center chair, Targett said.

Sean and a resident are shameless with their dance moves as they listen to Black Eyed Peas on repeat. Photo by Sarah Williamson

hvoice.org

october 2012

We need Home Depot Gift Cards

6

call 954-410-6275

Advertise here:

Ads start at $75

business

By Alysha Khan University of Miami

T

Mike O’Hara, a staff member, savors a pause in the shelter’s operation room. The room, which is located on the second floor, is usually filled with residents, demanding various items and favors.

Photo by Sarah Williamson

Operations room manages residents’ lives amidst chaotic days Throughout the day, the staff members in the operations room deal with a slew of problems that range from mundane requests for pens to more outrageous requests.

Money Management

Residents who are granted small safes in the operations room frequently accuse other residents of stealing their money. Most of the time, however, they take out the money the day before and simply forget.

Unstable emotions

Erratic mood swings is another problem that staff members deal with. One older resident is known for spending one day hugging and kissing everyone and the next cursing out the same people.

Some residents are mentally unstable. One resident in particular kept trying to eat his feces in a sandwich. The staff members must monitor these residents vigilantly to make sure they don’t hurt themselves.

Medication

One resident marched into the operations room demanding her medication.

Once she got it, she began to falsely accuse the staff members of withholding some of the medication. Eventually, she left in tears, swatting one security guard on her way out. This resident previously overdosed multiple times.

october 2012

Hygiene

hvoice.org

ucked away on the second floor, seamlessly blending in with the rows of murky brown doors, is the heart of the COSAC Homeless Shelter — the operations room.

The operations room coordinates the shelter’s residents’ day-to-day activities and needs.

The staff members are almost like kindergarten teachers, said Cathy Yeates-Krzeminski, who is a member of the staff.

“We are trying to teach them the ABC’s of life,” she said. “We try to have structure for them here. They do whatever they want to do, but we have to be the ones to say no.”

The operations room is open 24/7 because creating this kind of structure for residents is a never-ending task. Staff members work 10 to 12 hours a day for six days a week.

“This is where all the decisions are made — good or bad,” said staff member Artie Goncalves.

Goncalves starts his shift at 4 a.m. by organizing the residents who are vendors. Vendors spend the day on the street corners, selling copies of the Homeless Voice newspaper and collecting donations.

Every morning, vendors line up at the door of the operations room to receive their T-shirts and collection jugs. Residents are supposed to line up single-file along the wall next to the door and then enter one at a time in order to get their supplies, according to Goncalves.

“One goes out, another’s supposed to come in. It’s not that hard,” Goncalves said.

This rarely happens.

Residents frequently gather in front of the door and enter the operations room in small groups. Others forget which bus they are assigned to and refuse to consult the list posted downstairs each day, instead preferring to ask the staff members in the operations room.

“It’s hard to teach old dogs new tricks,” said Mike O’Hara, a staff member.

Once the vendors are dispatched to their respective street corners, Goncalves heads out for a sweep of the shelter in order to make sure all the residents who remain are where they are supposed to be. The sweep is followed by a brief coffee break before the frenzy begins.

“Every five minutes, it’s knock, knock, knock,” Goncalves said. “They are supposed to go to the front desk, but it never happens. It’s always, ‘I just need a pen,’ ‘I just need a cigarette.’”

The operations room handles cigarettes, one of the most sought after items in the shelter.

Many of the residents purchase cartons of cigarettes, but these cartons are often turned over to the operations room, where staff members then dispense a box per day to prevent fights and thefts.

They also provide cigarettes to residents who cannot afford their own. These residents often start fights by stealing cigarettes or asking around too often for a light.

“For a lousy couple of dollars, it’s worth it,” Goncalves said.

Dealing with residents’ various eccentricities is also a part of the job.

“We have one guy who is a great vendor but just doesn’t want to take a shower,” Yeates-Krzeminski said. “He’ll go out in the same clothes, sleep in them and then go out again the next day. We have to put security on him to make him take a shower.”

The operations room is also responsible for dispensing medicine to the residents who have prescriptions. Some are given small safes and are permitted to access their medication without supervision. Others are intensely watched to ensure that the medication is swallowed and that the correct amount is taken.

“It’s the narcotics you have to worry more about,” Goncalves said.

“We know the people who need to be watched. Sometimes, we have to go find people so that they take their meds on time.”

Staff members are also trained in CPR and first aid in order to deal with the residents’ wide range of medical conditions.

The shelter sometimes takes in dying residents so that they don’t pass away alone, according to O’Hara.

“We get a lot of people that the hospitals are trying to get rid of,” O’Hara said. “Most have no family to take care of them or their family won’t take them back.”

At the end of the day, when vendors return, the operations room handles the money they bring in. The residents get to keep 60 percent of what they earn, which then goes toward their daily fees and pocket money. Any money the residents receive from the outside, such as Social Security checks, also go through the staff of the operations room.

Residents have to sign and fingerprint a form to receive their money.

Sometimes, they are also videotaped.

“They’ll come to us the next day [after getting the money] saying that ‘No, that wasn’t me, that was my twin sister,’” Goncalves said. “But your twin sister was wearing the same clothes!”

Despite the constant foot traffic and chaotic atmosphere, the hectic day is worth it for O’Hara.

“It’s good to see them have a good day, make money,” he said. “If it’s not worth it, you shouldn’t be here.”

7

time

Violent attacks on homeless people not uncommon

By Chelsea Boozer University of Memphis

R

hvoice.org

october 2012

ose Maria Yale, weighed down by four grocery bags, made her way across the Family Dollar parking lot with the $150 she had to her name tucked inside a leather pouch slung around her neck.

A heavyset man who was watching approached her with a crowbar in hand, shoved her to the ground and beat her for 10 minutes before snatching the pouch and running away.

Yale, 57, a diabetic with seven herniated discs, has lived at the COSAC homeless shelter, a private-run facility in Hollywood, Fla., for the past two-and-a-half years. Attacks, like the one that happened to Yale, occur to about 113 people every year nationwide, according to the latest data released in a study by the National Coalition for the Homeless.

“The things I’ve been watching on TV and reading in the Homeless Voice about how people are beating up on people, I don’t know, there is something in their heads,” Yale said. “They get thrilled. They get off on doing it. You know what I’m saying? And it’s wrong.”

Sean Cononie, COSAC founder and director, said there are a number of reasons why the homeless are easy targets for violent attacks.

In general, the homeless carry their belongings and whatever cash they have on their person.

Those who sleep outside have little resources

8

COSAC resident Robert Cassito, with Brittany Naklicki displays the wound he received after he was attacked with a 20-pound ax three years ago when he lived on the streets. He now lives at COSAC. Cassito talks about other hate crimes he has experiences because he is homless, like being the victim of burglaries and getting beaten. Photo by Vonecia Carswell

available to them to protect what they have.

“They don’t have that window — that door — that you and I have,” Cononie said.

COSAC resident Robert Cassito, 53, was attacked with a 20-pound ax three years ago because his friend, also homeless and living on the street at the time, was jealous that Cassito had money, he said.

In another instance, two men pinned him to the ground and hit him before taking the $100 he collected by panhandling.

Such attacks are “believed to be motivated by the perpetrators’ bias against homeless individuals or their ability to target homeless people with relative ease,” according to the NHS study.

That was the case with Vale, who may have been an easy target that day at the Dania, Fla., Family Dollar store about a year ago. She doesn’t own a car, so she walked with her belongings from the store to the bus stop — alone and unprotected.

A talk with a few COSAC residents indicated such attacks may be more common than the NCH study indicates.

Michael Allen was walking around a bus stop near the shelter last week when young men began harassing him, asking for money and cigarettes. They grabbed Allen’s cane, a necessity for the 60-year-old whose stomach hernia affects

his ability to stay balanced when walking.

The men were “just typical young punks” in Allen’s view, but Cononie’s assistant Cynthia Waters said she is worried for the man’s safety.

“These guys are drinking, they are feeling aggressive and they just want to wreak havoc on people in the community walking,” Waters said.

“He walks up and down the street by himself, he’s elderly and he’s got medical problems to boot, so the wrong person on the wrong day — especially down here in South Florida — could cause him a lot of damage.”

The NCH study also reports that in the past 10 years of data — from 1999 to 2010 — 72 percent of violent attacks on the homeless were committed by people under the age of 30. The majority of attackers were men, and one in every five attacks was fatal.

“Teens kill homeless people,” Cononie said. “It gets out of hand. At first we’ll educate them in a very friendly way, and if that doesn’t work we may educate them in a different way. We may jump out of our cars and defend them. If we have the opportunity to call police we absolutely will, but I’m not going to let my people get killed.”

Allen told the story of the young men bothering him as if it was any other day. In his eyes, harassment is inevitable for someone like him.

“That’s just what happens,” Allen said.

t i mE

Just a Matter of Q

Time & A

Time flies, except when you’re homeless Story and photo illustration by Bethany Barnes University of Arizona

It may look like chaos, but COSAC homeless shelter runs on a schedule — a few in fact. Something’s always happening, but here are a few that offer a glimpse into the lives of the shelter’s residents.

24/7

House keeping : a crew is constantly cleaning the shelter. During the day, the residents are the ones who keep house. It is often the first job someone is assigned.

Security checks each room utes. For fires.

every

30 to 45 min-

Vendor’s breakfast is from 5:30 to 6:15 a.m.

6:15 a.m.

vendors meet by the vans and are then dropped off in groups at various intersections. Every intersection has a captain’s corner, which is the most lucrative spot.

7 to 9 a.m.

Breakfast is from includes pancakes, eggs and sausage.

and usually

11:30 a.m. to 12:30 p.m.

Lunch is from

and can consist of chicken,

beef, corn or rice.

Dinner is from 5:00 to 7:30 p.m. and usually has a protein, two sides, bread and cake.

Vendor’s dinner is from

p.m.

6:30 to 7:30

Desserts and snacks are from 9 to 9:30 p.m.

curfew

Monday through Thursday Friday-Sunday curfew 10:30 p.m.

is 9:45 p.m.

At the shelter, do you feel people waste you?

Some insist on doing so. That happens with everyone though, right? You’re in college. How many students do you see blowing off classes? The thing about the shelter is, the wasting is more visible because people already assume the homeless are wasting me.

It’s kindergarten here. Within the chaos I create structure. Children pretend they have a fever so they can stay home sick and watch cartoons. The same thing happens here. But it’s not as cute. We had a problem with people chugging coffee and saying they have a fever. So now we take their temperature twice, and the second time we make them sit in a chair for a bit so we can make sure they aren’t faking it.

We’re on a schedule and so is kindergarten. I say when work starts and ends, when people eat, when they have to be back to the shelter because otherwise people would probably do nothing but waste me with television, drugs, alcohol, sleeping or just setting off alarms for attention.

Are you expensive?

I wouldn’t say that. But considering how little of me people have, they must feel that way.

People can do nothing with me if they have the money. Some people go out and vend just to make enough so they don’t have to do anything the next day. They make the money to pay the fee for the shelter and that’s all they want. They don’t think about the future, they just think about paying for a day off.

Artie in operations — he makes up the day’s vending schedules — he gets me.

I don’t have rules on shower or TV times, but wasting energy is an issue and he understands that.

Artie was telling me the other day that he has a great sense of that because he was raised in an environment where if he left a light on he got punched. The people in operations also have a better grasp of me. They operate in this little room while people barge in demanding cigarettes, phone chargers, money to fix glasses, to do laundry and whatnot. The phone is always ringing. They are managing a pharmacy, a bank and a hospital — except the shelter is none of those things.

Do some people have a better understanding of you than others?

Yes. Some people get that if they see me as an ally they can save their money while others don’t get that and the money’s gone. A lot of clients want to ignore

{

Artie Goncalves, who works in operations management, said he groups people by how they spend their time.

Those who work he calls “the normal ones” those who don’t are the “lazy ones.”

me. So many people here just want to call me by the name Indefinitely. They don’t want to pay attention to me, they just want to waste me by sleeping, drinking, shooting up, doing nothing. It’s rude. You aren’t just allowed to call your teacher just “Mrs.” because it is disrespectful. That’s how I feel about the name Indefinitely. Here I want people to know me by Hours, Minutes, Days — if they are good at saving, maybe Weeks or Years. It’s progress when they are aware of me. I’m their future.

Do you rule with an iron hand?

I have a lot of rules, sure, but there is leeway here.

Iron fist/hand is a bit strong.

I have people who make sure this one guy takes a shower after he vends. He just won’t do it otherwise.

He’ll go out, vend and sleep in the same clothes he’s been in for weeks. So we make him shower regularly.

There are a few other people we have to chase down to take scheduled meds, we don’t make them, but they need us to remind them.

That is why we have lockdown. People have to be back to the shelter by curfew or call and let us know they won’t be. If that happens once, it is fine, people lose track of me. It happens. However, if people abuse that privilege, we put them on lockdown where they aren’t allowed to leave the shelter. It’s important because if they abuse me, they might endanger themselves.

Ultimately, I have everyone’s best interest at heart.

I have security check each room every 30 to 45 minutes to prevent fires. Is that cold? I don’t think so, it’s for safety. Do some of the homeless people view it that way? Maybe. Everyone is different.

Anything else you would like to add?

october 2012

Time at the Shelter

While creates structure. It has people write schedules and lists and administer its many reminders.

A. While is a control freak.

As it’ll tell you, this is the sort of place where you have to punish people so they can get some rest. We caught up with Time here:

People think they can just ignore me by drinking me away or going out on the street where they don’t have to deal with the rules. Some people see being on the streets as freedom. They can make that choice if they want to, but I don’t think they really want that.

In the end, I’m all everyone has.

hvoice.org

It has no gender. It’s the boss, of you, me and everyone at the COSAC homeless shelter. Here, the boss runs things differently. It runs the shelter like kindergarten. It has rules and it enforces them.

At the shelter, it is Time who calls the shots.

Here, most people know it by the name “A. While.” A.

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business

Organized chaos: Profile of COSAC case manager and college student Daletha “Dee” Brown

By Sarah Aslam University of Central Florida

F

hvoice.org

october 2012

or Daletha “Dee” Brown, there are no excuses.

Her life has not been easy.

The second-year nursing student and COSAC homeless shelter case manager had been in foster care since she was 5 years old. She and her sister, Allyssa Brown, were adopted when Dee was 16. Three months later, things soured.

“They tell you the typical stuff that you want to hear,” Brown said. “When you haven’t had a set family for so long, and you’ve been in foster care, and you hear someone rattling on, ‘Oh, we can give you this, we can give you that, blah, blah blah.’ It sounds good. In my case, it was too good to be true.”

The only thing tying Brown’s adoptive mother to the girls was the adoption check: $600 per head, hauling in a total of $1,200 a month.

Both sisters were kicked out after they turned 18. Elder sister Alyssa left a year before Brown, and Brown was kicked out the following year.

She first tried Covenant House in Fort Lauderdale, Fla. She was ejected twice, the first time for not finding a job by the shelter’s deadline and the second time for getting into a fight with a roommate.

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Daletha “Dee” Brown answers another phone call at the COSAC homeless shelter operations desk, her hand still on the receiver from the last call. Photo by Vonecia Carswell

After being turned away from two shelters because she was not 21, she found herself living in a hotel for three weeks. Her money dwindled, and then finally ran out.

That’s when the 19-year-old found herself sleeping on Hollywood Beach.

She cried a lot during that first week.

Things were so bad that Brown went to Fort Lauderdale Hospital, claiming she was suicidal and might harm herself. By doing so, she got herself a place to sleep for three nights.

Brown took advantage of the Baker Act, a law that allows someone to be temporarily detained for mental health evaluation and treatment.

“That day, I even Baker-acted myself just to have a day to sleep,” Brown said. “I tried to call my adoptive mom, she didn’t want nothing to do with me.”

Her adoptive mother told her she was on her own.

Brown had to leave her job as a dietary aide at a retirement home because it was in Indian River County, and she couldn’t find transportation from the shelter in Broward County.

“There’s no way I could commute from Indian River, that’s three hours,” Brown said.

Her supervisor was understanding, but at the end of the day, it was a job and income lost.

After borrowing a cell phone to call her boss and break the news, tears came to her eyes. After another night of sleeping by the water, she woke up and realized she had something left.

“My life,” Brown said. “I still wanted to go to college.”

That’s when she found COSAC. It’ll be exactly four years from Sept.

9 that Brown found herself at the door of the shelter — where she now works as a case manager.

Sean Cononie, director and founder of COSAC helped her with her application to Broward College.

Now, her dream job is in nursing.

She’s doing her prerequisites now, and hopes to get her master’s degree when she’s done with her undergraduate degree.

Brown said it’s hard to find a quiet place to study at COSAC, and it’s harder still because the fear of homelessness doesn’t go away. But excuses are not for her.

“Even though you’re homeless doesn’t mean you still can’t go to school,” said Brown. “It’s the same challenges, just a little more.”

A sister lost and found

Daletha “Dee” Brown and her sister were separated six months after Brown graduated high school in 2007.

When Brown became homeless, she didn’t know where her sister Allyssa was because her phone was disconnected and she no longer had her sister’s phone number.

Brown found her by chance when she came to COSAC, two years after she had last been in contact.

Brown had made a Classmates. com profile, and a mutual friend saw Allyssa at the bank and told her about her sister.

“Now we’re close,” Brown said.

“I go see her. When I first got back with her, I didn’t know I had a nephew. Now I have a 3-year-old nephew and a 1-year-old niece. “ Brown said she doesn’t know why she’s homeless, but she believes “everything is put in your life for a reason.”

She said she and her sister used to argue and fight all the time, but their two-year separation changed that.

“Since I’ve been here, we’ve actually been closer.”

h e a lt h

A resident of the COSAC homeless shelter cleans up the kitchen after the residents finish dinner. Photo by Cayla Nimmo

Not so fresh and clean

Blood Spit Vomit

for them here with cleaner floors, toiletries and other necessities.

“I feel good doing this; people need it,” Torres said after passing a towel to one of the residents. “I feel like they are my family. We have a good team here.”

Daily cleaning involves wiping down the walls on the second floor and the hallways every day with a 10 percent mixture of bleach and 90 percent water.

The dining room and kitchen are cleaned three times a day after each meal.

The housekeepers use bleach to ensure bacteria are killed and to sanitize the floor in case there is blood.

“The shelter is about as clean as a movie theater,” Cononie said.

Unlike the theater, cleaning up after people isn’t confined to spilt soda and popcorn. It’s mostly blood, fecal matter and urine.

Here are some things housekeeping staff cleans up often at the COSAC homeless shelter:

Any time accidents happen the room is washed down, even if it already has been cleaned. If the resident is willing, housekeepers also help them take a shower.

Nobody can take a hose to them because that’s abuse, Cononie said.

There is one resident who walks around after she defecates and urinates on herself.

“Sometimes she just sits in her wheelchair,” Cononie said. “But any time she sits in any other chair, someone has to follow her and wipe the chair down.”

Moments like these don’t faze Dobynes. He tries to be discreet when accidents happen and cleans up the mess to prevent contamination.

It’s a messy job, but Dobynes is up to doing it.

Fecal Matter Urine Food

october 2012

C

leaning up after residents cut their neck open is not a typical chore for the COSAC homeless shelter housekeepers. But calls for blood, fecal matter and urine cleanups are.

The shelter not only deals with knocked over lunch trays but its staff also cleans up after residents who inflict harm on themselves or others.

“We had this resident named John ... he was cutting himself with box cutters, but nothing had opened up,” COSAC founder and director Sean Cononie said. “Then he lifted his neck and ‘whoosh’ blood started coming out. I was covered in blood [so] they dumped bleach on me.”

Keeping everything clean is one of the most important jobs at the shelter.

Some residents have HIV or other blood-borne diseases and precautions have to be taken.

The day-to-day cleaning is the job of housekeeper Jeremiah Dobynes.

Dobynes is a jovial man who takes pride in his job and keeps other workers in line.

His role as housekeeper involves cleaning and handling calls from residents.

“We can do it all,” Dobynes said as he fixed a resident’s blinds. “Anything to make them happy.”

Housekeeping also ensures that the residents have everything they need from shampoo to razors, COSAC housekeeper Rene Torres said.

Some of the residents have been on the street for weeks. There is comfort

hvoice.org

By Chase Cook University of Oklahoma

11

Perceptions

Christopher Whitten, a reporter at The University of Memphis, prepares to go undercover by posing as a homeless man on the streets of Fort Lauderdale, Fla. At the Ramada Inn, he has the phone number of an adviser written on his arm in case he gets busted by the police. Photos by Cayla Nimmo

Homeless for a night

By Christopher Whitten The University of Memphis

C

orey noticed a large man, with his blue jeans falling down, clutching the back of his pants with his left hand. He stopped the man.

“No worries,” he said as he fumbled through his backpack.

Tossing a blanket and his dirty work shirts aside, Corey pulled out a worn black, two-prong belt and handed it over.

“I’ve got you,” he said with a comforting smile.

The man he helped was me.

Background As an embedded journalist, I posed as a homeless man for one night to get a sense of how to survive on the streets of Fort Lauderdale, Fla. For any story, journalists do their research so they can relate to the story, and to have a sense of what questions to ask.

For me, that research came five years prior, before a career in journalism was ever a thought — when I was homeless.

For more on the reporter’s story, go online to HomelessNightBlog.wwff2012. com.

hvoice.org

october 2012

Corey As a chef in a local kitchen, Corey works 12 hours a day, Monday through Friday. He takes home about $400 each week. Paying $125 for rent weekly at a local rooming house was usually not a problem. But about once a month, there is a week he can’t go home.

Between his house and his job, is a casino; a casino, he said, he “just can’t stay away from.”

“All day at work I watch the clock, just itching to get to the casino.”

Not all of his paycheck fell victim to a lapse of self-control at the Blackjack and Texas Hold ‘em tables, accompanied by complimentary drinks that contributed to his often hasty decision to “bet my last 20.”

“It’s about enjoying yourself. If you don’t have that, then what is it all for?”

12

he reasoned. “I just need to pay my rent first.”

Stranahan Park Styrofoam food containers littered the back corner of the park. The neighboring homeless population took advantage of the catering, which had been dropped off by some generous individuals, despite an unofficial sign prompting passersby not to feed the homeless.

What was once wide open with plenty of spaces for the homeless population to take refuge from the heat beneath the towering cypress trees, is under construction. A botanical garden has been planted to occupy much of the area the transient once called home. But some still gather under the gazebo or near the wall separating the once-rundown park from Broward Main Library.

Mosquitoes and bugs can be a problem for overnight campers in the humid and sticky oasis, which closes to the public at 9 p.m. Construction signs and fences border the area and separate much of the park from South Andrews Avenue.

People often walk through the park — an area late-night pedestrians avoided. But some homeless people still remain.

Generosity and Violence Generosity among the homeless is recurrent, said Sean Cononie, founder and director of COSAC homless shelter.

“The homeless help each other all the time,” he said.

The transient, Cononie said, share a common survival map of where to go.

“Until you get back to capitalism and territorial rights,” he said citing violence over possessions as trivial as a blanket.

“Once someone intrudes, it can be interesting.”

Making it in Fort Lauderdale It started with a cigarette. That’s all it took for Corey to strike up a conversation with me, who to him, was just another

homeless guy, newly arrived from Memphis, Tenn., filled with hopes and aspirations to start over.

“You’re in the right place,” he said.

“There are shelters where you can go.

There are places to get help. But don’t get comfortable with the programs.”

Oftentimes, people lose a sense of time and fall into a routine of homelessness, he said. He had seen it too many times before.

He told me to apply for food stamps and that there were places I could get help with applying.

“You’ll be approved in about four days,” he said. “After that, get a phone and find a job.”

A job was key to beating this, he said. This state of vulnerability can be temporary, he told me.

“Put in, I’d say, like 20 applications a week,” he told me. “You might get 20 no’s, but somebody’s going to call.”

A job, he told me, was the key.

7-Eleven With $1.50 in my pocket, I justified getting something to drink. Corey pointed me in the direction of a 7-Eleven, and told me he would come along.

As we walked five blocks west, Corey pointed out the nearby clubs and explained that the nightlife usually kept people busy beyond 6 a.m.

Cars and pedestrians went every which way. As we approached the corner gas station, we came to a puddle on the street. Each of us immediately realized the importance to pick up pace as we saw the opportunity for an unwanted shower. While I negotiated the price of a Big Gulp with the cashier, Corey was looking for bleach. He needed to wash his work uniforms. A bucket, some cold water and a splash of bleach would remedy that. He inquired on the price of the bleach, despite his lack of money.

After we left, he told me he was looking around for a can of Off bug spray to end the assault of mosquitoes back in the

park.

Breaking off After making our trek back to Stranahan Park, Corey tucked back into his corner of the butterfly garden. Mosquitoes were still the only insects noticeable as he slapped one of the buzzing pests away from his ear.

Looking for an opportunity to break away, I told Corey I was going to get some of the pasta that had been left for anyone hungry enough to dare. Halfway out of his sight, Corey yelled out to me to bring him some, too. So I did just that.

After devouring the dish, Corey came out from his blanket to get himself some more.

My moment had come.

I left some cigarettes for him near his backpack, which doubled as a pillow and started toward him as he made his way back to me. I sat my drink down near the catered feast and darted around the corner.

Coming Clean Corey made his way back and saw the cigarettes, and knew something was strange. He approached where he had last seen me and saw my cup sitting there, but I was nowhere in sight.

Two blocks away, I realized I still had his belt. So I went back.

I told Corey who I really was and that, while I lied about being homeless right then, I had once been in his situation.

He looked beside himself as I was telling him all of these things. I gave him a pack of cigarettes and $4 to buy some bleach for his clothes. We hugged, and parted ways.

The Reality I was able to return to my comfortable nest at the Ramada Inn. But Corey had to stay in Stranahan Park. Until he gets paid, he will be around. Despite a gambling addiction, he has a place to go. He just needs to pay his rent first.

Perceptions

The next day Our group did outreach (pg. 16), so I called Corey. He was at Stranahan Park, so I told him I’d come by.

When I arrived, he was there waiting.

“What took you so long?” he asked.

We greeted each other like old friends. A handshake morphed into a hug.

I made Corey a deal – he come back to COSAC and spend one night, and I would, too.

Done.

Corey picked up his stuff and piled into the van.

He got to wash his clothes.

And I spent the night in a homeless shelter.

10 tips from our security

By Chelsea Boozer

The University of Memphis

Joseph “Jay” Mezynski III, 30, and Patrick Russell, 19 — both security staff at the South Florida private COSAC homeless shelter — accompanied three Will Write For Food 2012 participants as we attempted to discreetly capture University of Memphis student Christopher Whitten’s undercover reportage: embedding with the homeless population for a night.

After I proved unsuccessful with my spy skills, I took advantage of the opportunity to learn from Jay and Patrick, both formerly homeless. I listened to their quips about Chris’ sometimes-unrealistic actions and their memories of when they lived on the streets.

Here are the tips I gathered one should follow if trying to go undercover as homeless:

1

At night, don’t sleep or stay in one place for long. Jay said the homeless move around during the night in order to not get noticed. Come morning, Patrick said he used to board the bus and go to sleep in the back, riding around route after route.

2

Be resourceful. Patrick sometimes filled bottles with cold water from a Walgreen’s water fountain and placed them on the top in his bag of food.

“What you got there is a cold pillow,” he said.

3

Watch your surroundings. “I’d never have my back to the street like you do right now,” Jay told me after an apparent drug deal took place about a 100 feet away. The homeless are constantly watching and observing, he said.

4

Never lie, cheat or steal. “I wouldn’t want that done to me, so I never did that,” Patrick said.

5

Lie, cheat and steal. Jay talked about how he learned to drop his slang talk so he could approach people with “proper” language, causing them to trust him more. The ruse allowed him to proposition a wider range of people.

7

You’re “straight,” not all right. If someone asks, “You all right, man?” you say “Nah, nah, I’m straight,” Jay told Chris before he went undercover.

8

Don’t buy expensive cigarettes. Jay got a kick out of Chris’ $5 pack of Camels.

“Homeless people don’t smoke those, and if they did get their hands on a pack we aren’t going to be giving them away!” Jay laughed. He pulled out a pack of 305s. “This is the homeless cigarette.”

10

Stick to food, sex, drugs and homeless life. The only topics homeless people who just met talk about are food, drugs, women (or men) and how long they’ve been on the streets, Patrick said.

Everyone is “brother man.” When Jay, Dylan Bouscher (the videographer), Patrick and myself joined Chris in pretending to be homeless, Jay and Patrick greeted every homeless person who walked by with “What’s good, brother man?”

october 2012

9

hvoice.org

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Watch out for each other. Jay had been picking out the flaws in Chris’ acting all night. I asked if Chris had made a mistake when his new homeless friend asked him to bring back two bowls of food instead of one. That would really happen, Jay said. “We watch out for each other.”

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business

Jena Smith, a resident of the COSAC homeless shelter, and Jane McInnis, a member of Will Write For Food 2012, sell newspapers at the corner of University Drive and Broward Blvd in Plantation, Fla. Residents of the shelter work 6 days a week selling papers in order to pay for their shelter fees and pocket money. Photo by Sarah Williamson

Playing in the streets

By Jane McInnis University of South Florida St. Petersburg

M

ost drivers don’t look up. Pulling out a phone is a popular diversion when passengers see her coming; others stare straight ahead waiting for the light to turn green. Others find a radio knob to fiddle with.

They don’t look at her. They avoid eye contact. Those who look up to wave her away are given a smile and a thumbs-up.

Jena Smith, 42, sells the Homeless Voice newspaper from the medians. She has lived at its affiliated shelter since 2010.

“I hate doing this stuff all day long. I hate it. It’s humiliating,” Smith said.

Living comfortably

Life wasn’t always so uncomfortable.

In 2007, Smith worked with cabinetry and lived with her girlfriend who managed a rental property. She said the extra money bought her a severe drug addiction. A little more than 5 feet tall, she shrunk from 240 lbs to 93 lbs in six months.

“I was a walking crack stem,” she said.

hvoice.org

october 2012

Smoke break

Her cellphone rings during a cigarette break. Sitting on a curb on Broward Blvd and University St. in the screaming heat, she sees it’s her son. She answers.

“I’m at work,” she said, pulling in her last drag before going out and finishing her typical 10-hour shift. She works six days a week.

Before getting off the phone, she apologizes for her ex-girlfriend showing up doped-out at his birthday dinner the night before. She promises to take him to lunch and a movie on Labor Day.

14

Processional panhandling

Smith walks the median up and down in flip-flops.

The exhaust from cars creates lines on her skin when she takes her shoes off.

She crosses lanes when the lights are red. She calls this “playing in the street.” She knows she’s not supposed to do this. She’s been ticketed five times for walking between lanes in traffic.

She doesn’t worry about tickets — the more cars she reaches, the more money in her bucket.

“We’re here to make some damn rent and get some money in your pocket,” she said.

And pay rent they must.

If it’s slow, Smith doesn’t go on a break. She’s focused when it comes to collecting. She’ll walk up to rejection and look it dead in the eye.

Approaching every vehicle that stops in the turning lane, she’s not discouraged by rolled-up or tinted windows. She holds up the three-liter plastic bucket while doing a small beauty-queen-in-a-parade wave.

Lovers leap

Domestic abuse is another reason she’s in the shelter.

The man she dated in 2008 would smoke crack and accuse her of stealing from him. He would make her strip down naked and reach down her throat and into other places to see if she was hiding dope.

She recalled a trip they took to Cameron Park in Waco, Texas. Before getting out of the car at the park, he asked her about visiting the cliff.

“Are you gonna’ jump or am I gonna’ push you?” he said.

She remembers the time he punched her in the face with a beer can. She remembers another boyfriend with no teeth who threw her into a pond at a Fourth of

July party to get laughs from guests.

Every relationship of Smith’s has been like this, boyfriends and girlfriends alike.

Criss-cross

Smith isn’t always selling papers on the same strip.

Some areas she likes more than others, and every crossroad has its busiest median. The vendors call it the “captain’s corner.”

No two intersections are alike. Attendants at nearby gas stations aren’t always friendly, even though Smith usually buys a bottle or two of Mountain Dew. Smith recalls a day when it was pouring rain, and she hid under the cover of a Shell gas station. A worker told her to leave.

“He calls it company image. I call it inhumane,” she said.

Now, she packs a raincoat in her backpack, and continues vending papers through the rain.

She has regulars who give money and know her face.

A few days ago, she asked a woman who was stopped at the light what her plans for the day were. The woman explained she was going grocery shopping.

“I don’t even know what that is anymore,” Smith said.

She misses the small things. The normal stuff, like lawn work and Labor Day barbeques.

Off the median

It’s time for another break.

Smith walks to a creek behind a bus stop. With her back to the cars and all the people in them, she leans over the ledge and faces the water.

She clicks her tongue as if she were calling a cat.

Within seconds, a soft-shell snapping turtle and several yellow-bellied slider turtles swim to the surface. They poke their heads above the water and look at her.

“See how they make eye contact with you?” she said.

t i mE

If Sean Cononie dies,

Then what?

S

ean Cononie sits at his desk, a blood pressure cuff lying on a desk covered in cigarette ashes. Scenes from security cameras flash behind Cononie’s imposing 340-pound figure. The monitor screens create the impression of a mini-command center and make up much of the light in an otherwise dark office.

“Artie! Get me a cigarette!” he yelled at an employee, Artie Goncalves.

Goncalves abides, and pulled out a handful of cigarettes and passed them to him.

“I’m always here, doing whatever has to be done,” Cononie said. “I have no schedule.”

Cononie is the founder and director of COSAC homeless shelter. He has a girlfriend, but in actuality has been married to his job for the past 17 years.

While most people have the option of going home at the end of a workday, Cononie walks 10 feet to his bedroom. A private kitchen is also attached. Here, home is work.

In other words, Cononie is the shelter and the shelter is Cononie. According to various residents, including Sean’s right-hand man, Mark Targett, it would take three to four people to replace him.

Depending so much on one person would put any organization in a bind.

But the urgency is felt doubly here, both because so many depend on COSAC and because Cononie’s

health is deteriorating.

At 48, he suffers from sleep apnea, a disorder that interrupts his breathing during sleep. Cononie tries to get a minimum of four hours of sleep each night.

If he doesn’t, he falls asleep on the job. As a result, he drinks coffee, which affects his heart rate.

“It’s kind of a vicious circle,” he said.

He smokes about a pack and a half of cigarettes a day; this is an improvement from an earlier habit of six to seven packs a day.

So the question looms: Where would the shelter find someone, anyone who could dedicate so much time and passion to it?

Enter Targett, 33, the shelter’s assistant director and Cononie’s aide-de-camp. He started working with Cononie when he was in high school because he needed community service hours to graduate.

Six months into his community service, Cononie reached out to him to work as a vendor at the shelter.

“I really love this,” Targett said. “I think about The Homeless Voice all day. How can we go beyond the vending? How can we reach out to the public?”

He wants to change the public’s perception of homelessness.

“I was thinking of doing a Christmas benefit and a nonprofit convention. There would be different classes on nonprofits and bring speakers to educate,” he said.

Right now, there isn’t a set plan on what is going to happen when Cononie dies. But Targett seems a

likely candidate to follow in his footsteps.

“When [Cononie] dies, I’m going to be so pissed,” Targett said, in an attempt to lighten up a heavy subject.

Targett assures that if something were to happen to Sean, he would be working at the shelter nonstop for months until he figured out what to do.

“We definitively need at least three more people to replace Sean. I can’t sit behind the desk all the time, you know? I want to be healthy. I have five kids,” he said.

“I wouldn’t do that to Mark,” Cononie said. “I wouldn’t expect him to run this whole place by himself.”

Employees of the shelter can’t imagine life without Cononie.

“Wow, that’s a damn good question,” Chris Padilla, the security guard, said. “I think that things between the residents would be the same, but I don’t think that rent would get paid on time. [Cononie] always has me check on everyone that hasn’t paid the rent.”

Angela Rivera, a receptionist at the shelter adds, “Sean is irreplaceable. I think that if he was gone, we would try to continue his legacy and strive for the cause.”

The passion is surely there, however, the security of COSAC’s future is shaky at best. If nothing else, residents and staff can depend on this: Cononie will be there until his last day.

“I’ve already put so much in,” he says. “I can’t stop.”

According to his right hand man, Mark Targett (Left), it would take three people to replace Sean Cononie (Right), the founder and owner of COSAC.

Work from Home call 954-920-1277

october 2012

University of Central Florida

hvoice.org

By Veronica Figueroa

15

Perceptions

Homeless but not Voiceless

By Valerie Delgado University of Florida

R

hvoice.org

october 2012

amona Montayne, a resident at the COSAC homeless shelter blames the conditions of homeless life for her inability to vote. She lost the right after she assaulted a police officer and was convicted of a felony.

Before the incident, Montayne volunteered with the Broward Republican Executive Committee. She said 1996 was the last time she voted during a presidential election.

“At the time, I still had my own home,” she said. “I hadn’t given up yet.”

While issues such as welfare and Medicaid affect Montayne, she’s in the majority of COSAC residents who will, for a variety reasons, not vote in the upcoming election. The low rates of homeless voters bring about a correlation between life in the streets and politics.

But her inability to vote hasn’t hindered her from paying attention to politics. She now supports the Democratic Party and follows CNN and MSNBC religiously.

“It’s the lower and the middle classes who need to focus on the news,” Montayne said. “But it’s these populations that don’t always have the

16

“Some of them have been on the streets for so long that they’re completely out of the loop when it comes to the issues,” - Roger Wickman, a nighttime manager at the shelter.

means to vote.”

Those means sometimes come down to something as simple as not having a valid photo ID. Roger Wickman, the shelter’s nighttime manager on duty, said he estimates 80 percent of the residents don’t have any form of identification.

Those who do have an ID are discouraged from voting because of their current situation.

“Some of them have been on the streets for so long that they’re completely out of the loop when it comes to the issues,” he said. “It’s sad because it [the election] affects the poor the most.”

Wickman admits that when he was living at the shelter he didn’t vote.

“When you’re feeling down like that you think, ‘My vote doesn’t count,’” he said. “The whole political scene is not a priority.”

Now that he has a place of his own, Wickman said he is registered and ready to vote in November.

Others, like Marie Caporellie, said she never registered to vote because she didn’t have an incentive. A problem with drug addiction and other personal issues kept her away from the ballot box.

“It has nothing to do with being homeless,” the 45-year-old said. “I’m just not interested.”

Will Hudak, 44, comes from the other end of the spectrum. He said eligible residents should follow Wickman’s example. The Persian Gulf War veteran and resident of the shelter cannot vote because of a felony on his record.

Prior to his conviction, he was a registered Democrat. He last voted during the 2008 presidential election.

Hudak said those who still have the privilege should care about who goes into office.

“It’s a right, a freedom and a duty to elect someone,” he said. “Don’t take it for granted, this is serious stuff.”

Roger Wickman, the nighttime manager at the COSAC homeless shelter is eager to vote in the November elections, after spending several years homeless and uninterested in politics.

Photo by Joshua Santos

Did you know?

To register in Florida residents need to provide a valid photo identification. If the picture identification does not contain the signature of the voter, an additional identification that provides the voter’s signature is required.

Sept. 30 to Oct. 6 marks National Homeless and Low-Income Voter Registration Week. The National Coalition for the Homeless sponsors the week in an effort to teach homeless citizens about their voting rights. To learn more about the week’s events, visit the NCH website.

In 1987, the Alaska case ruling of Fischer v. Stout allowed homeless people to designate a shelter, park or street corner as their residence.

In 1984, the New York case of Pitts v. Black set the precedent for acknowledging homeless voting. The case determined that prohibiting people who lived on the street from voting disenfranchised an entire group of people.

Source: nationalhomeless.org

Perceptions

A Tale of Two Tents

By Veronica Figueroa University of Central Florida Christopher Whitten The University of Memphis

B

ernie lives in a $15 million mansion built by the State of Florida. Craig lives in a tent deep in the woods.

They’re both homeless and they don’t want to live by anyone’s rules.

Bernie’s home has no walls or doors because it’s a bridge.

“I am out here because I’m out here,” said Bernie, 61.

He has an extensive resume, which includes a stint as a property manager for a local real estate owner. He had his own air conditioning business in Middleboro, Mass.

He sold his business and moved to South Carolina after his wife asked him to.

“She had a situation going. She was a head nurse at Conway General in South Carolina.

So we sold the business, sold the house, went to Conway,” he said.

But then things changed.

“She met somebody online and Bernie was out the door,” he said about himself.

“I came here (to Fort Lauderdale, Fla.). I had nowhere to go.”

He worked for a while at the Broward Outreach Center, but he soon grew tired of it.

Homeless for two years, Bernie said he would never go to COSAC, but he

knew the founder, Sean Cononie.

“He brought me to the hospital one time. I was urinating blood and as it had turned out I have bladder cancer,” he said. “Since then I’ve been through three operations. And it’s the same answer every time. You know, they couldn’t tell me anything.”

Cononie told Bernie his cancer was curable. And in most cases it would be, if it’s caught early.

But Bernie has a plan. He will travel in about six weeks to Bradenton, Fla. to a Christian retreat where his minister, Linda, wants him to come.

“But what I do is what I do,” Bernie said. “And that’s my plan. That’s where I’m headed.”

He has his own way of doing things. He doesn’t like rules.

Cononie doesn’t like them either.

“If I didn’t own a shelter, I’d be out here too,” Cononie said. “This place can suck sometimes. I tell you what to eat. I tell you what you can’t eat. I tell you what time to be in.

It’s not for everyone.”

As for Bernie, his plan is to live. When he bleeds, he will go to the hospital.

“I will live,” he said. “Until I die.”

Like Bernie, Craig’s story as to why he’s homeless starts off with his ex-wife.

“I caught her with another guy. He was wearing my bathrobe. I grabbed a bat and beat him. Unfortunately, he was a lawyer,” Craig said.

Craig, 63, has been homeless for 11 years. He lives in a tent in the woods off of the beaten path past the railroad. His only companion is his cat, Booper.

Pushing aside branches and pulling aside a chain link fence, Craig said, “It takes a light to get where I’m at, but this is it. Looks like hell but this is home.”

He wasn’t always that secluded in the woods. The weather, flooding and fires pushed Craig deeper into the woods.

Most shelters won’t accept pets because they are considered a liability if they hurt someone, so during Tropical Storm Isaac, Craig and Booper braved the weather together. The pet policy is one of the reasons that Craig won’t go to a shelter.

“Cat don’t go. I don’t go. Bottom line,” Craig stated.

Like Bernie, Craig is very familiar with Cononie, but he doesn’t want anything to do with the shelter.

“I’m not into the whole rules and regulations thing. Not into it. This is what it is,” he said and shrugged.

Craig has two sons, but he’s not in contact with them.

“One’s a jackass, but the other one is a sweet guy. I don’t talk to him because his mother poisoned his mind,” he said.

Both men have decided to stay in the woods, where they can abide by their own rules.

Craig has been homeless for 11 years but has no desire to live in a shelter. He values his pet cat and his freedom over the rules that are often imposed in shelters. Photo by Vonecia Carswell

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Bernie has been homeless for two years and currently lives under a bridge, which he calls his $15 million mansion. Photo by Vonecia Carswell

october 2012

“I am out here because I’m out here,” - Bernie, a man who has been homeless for two years.

17

t i mE

Looking for a home

By Valeria Delgado University of Florida

A

mid the clutter of Sean Cononie’s office, six cardboard boxes rest on the shelf.

Inside one of them lies Marilyn Georges. A free-spirited resident at the shelter, Georges once flashed Cononie so he could see the eagle tattooed on her chest.

Her ashes, and those of five former residents of the shelter, are waiting to be moved to a more permanent location.

Cononie, who has kept the six urns at his desk for some time, said he wanted to give them a final resting spot — in the patch of grass outside his window.

He hopes to start construction on the Johnny McCormick Memorial at the beginning of 2013. It will provide shelter residents, and other homeless people in the area who pass away a place to rest in peace.

But if Cononie has his way and the memorial becomes a reality, he could get in to trouble with the police.

“The city says we can’t bury people in our backyard,” Cononie said. “I’m gonna go ahead and do it anyway. What are they gonna make me do, dig them back up?”

The memorial will resemble a mausoleum, but instead of caskets it will contain urns.

“A lot of times we have people coming in asking for their relatives, and we have to tell them they are dead,” Cononie said. “That’s hard enough.”

He hopes the memorial will provide residents and family members a place to pay their respects.

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october 2012

Sean Cononie, founder of the COSAC homesless shelter, gazes at the plot of land that will eventually house a memorial for the shelter’s late residents. Photo by Joshua Santos

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The memorial for late shelter residents will be similiar to a mausoleum but will feature urns instead of caskets. Photo by Joshua Santos.

Perceptions

L

eaving home. Coming home.

Close to home. Far from home.

Perspectives and experiences play out relative to home. For most, home is a place of certainty, of security and identity, a point of return and orient.

But perceptions exist about the homeless. They exist in the minds of people with homes. They exist in those who work with them. They exist within themselves and about each other.

Less than human

He can sense the hate.

Manuel, whose last name is omitted to protect his identity, sensed the hate when beer bottles were hurled at him from passing motorists. He senses the hate when strangers drop gum and other trash into cups the homeless use to collect change. He understands the fear that flashes on a stranger’s face when a homeless person approaches.

Manuel is acutely aware of “outsiders’” perception of the homeless as drunks, drug abusers, and no-good criminals.

The stigma associated to homelessness keeps Manuel from revealing that he’s homeless to employers.

“If they were to find out that I’m homeless, it could ruin my career in a lot of ways because, a homeless person, they think you’re on drugs or you do alcohol,” he said. “Or there’s a reason you’re here.”

Manuel, currently an airport heavy equipment officer, said he told a former supervisor that he was homeless. His weekly-drug tests became daily.

It’s the less-than-human treatment of some against the homeless, Manuel said, that builds the homeless’ mistrust of “normal” people. Manuel experienced the inhumane treatment firsthand, having to avoid rain by crawling into metal tubing. The makeshift shelter doubled as protection from trash thrown at Manuel from passing vehicles.

“They would throw beer bottles. At 60 miles an hour, if they hit you, they could kill you. Sleeping in there could protect you a little more,” he said.

Rodney Messer, a shelter security guard, has experienced his share of hatred too, having been beaten and struck on multiple occasions on the street. While Messer doesn’t hold animosity toward those who are not homeless, he said it’s not uncommon for those who are homeless to reciprocate and “hate back.”

Even Messer’s parents avoided acknowledging him when they crossed paths as he begged for food on the streets.

“My mom and dad … on Hollywood Boulevard, saw me, and acted like they didn’t even know me,” he said. “My own mom. Not because she hated me; because she was embarrassed.”

Within the community

But perceptions of the homeless aren’t confined to the outside world’s perception of those who live in shelters.

Those who live in shelters also judge one another.

Manuel, who said he only associates with two other residents in the 300-person shelter, doesn’t view Photo Illustration by Bethany Barnes

himself as part of the larger shelter community. He said many here are mentally impaired and can’t carry on “intelligent” conversation.

While some are motivated to work themselves out of hard times, Manuel said others are content with staying in cramped and dim living quarters that often house more than three to a room, eating sub-standard food and subject to the rules and regulations of living in a homeless shelter. Manuel plans on leaving and renting his own apartment next month.

Artie Goncalves, office manager who arrived at the shelter in the late ‘90s, said residents are also sometimes protective over one another.

Bonds and friendships are also formed during small instances of camaraderie.

“There’s this guy, because I gave him a cigarette yesterday, he’s right there to protect me,” Goncalves said. “That’s the mentality some people get on the streets.”

Residents warn and give heads-ups to fellow residents about individuals to avoid. One resident, for example, frequently talks to himself and can be perceived as violent on first impression.

“Some people, they can see he’s got a problem ... And they’ll tell others, ‘Stay away from him because you don’t know him. He doesn’t know you,’” Goncalves said.

No one homogenous identity exists for those who are homeless. One of the highest-selling vendors of The Homeless Voice has accumulated a couple thousand dollars from distributing the newspaper and hands her savings over to management for safe-keeping.

Another resident, who Goncalves said lived in the shelter before Goncalves arrived in the late ‘90s “doesn’t even try to help himself.”

“Every individual’s different. Some of these people they want to be homeless,” Goncalves said. “They want to live out there under the tree. They want to be free. They want to wake up in the morning under the tree and grab a beer, stay drunk. They want their freedom, the drugs, the alcohol. That’s their life. And it’s unfortunate.”

Shifting view

From the outside in, COSAC security guard Christopher Padilla always looked down on homeless people. Then he became one.

“A lot of people look at them differently. Honestly, I used to look at them like ‘Damn, get yourself a job. I never thought I’d be homeless, especially at this age.”

Padilla is readily upfront about his troubled past — he stole more than $1,000 in merchandise as an employee at a clothing store and violated his bail by crossing state borders and returning home to Georgia.

A year and a half after arriving at the shelter and moving his way up to a security position, he said his previous perceptions have been shaken after hearing the shelter residents’ individual stories.

“Respect. I was very disrespectful,” Padilla said, reflecting on his personal transformation. “I was a very disrespectful person my teenage years and some of my adult life. When I came here, that all changed.”

october 2012

A look at the perceptions associated with being homeless

Syracuse University

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Vantage points

By Debbie Truong

19

t i mE

Keeping your youth

COSAC teen makes most out of homelessness

By Jessie Hellmann University of Southern Indiana

P

atrick Russell stands at about 6 feet tall, with curly blondish brown hair and piercing green eyes. “Maria” is tattooed on the underside of his right arm, a memento of his grandmother who died six years ago. He’s wearing a pair of navy Vans shoes.

Probably no one would guess he was homeless.

He looks like a normal teenager you would find attending a normal high school. He likes to play basketball and is going to join the wrestling team at his school.

But at the end of the school day, he doesn’t go home to a mom and dad and golden retriever in the backyard.

He goes home with 200 to 300 other homeless people who live at the COSAC homeless shelter, and is one of about 5 percent of the shelter residents under 25.

Russell, who is 19 years old, has lived at the COSAC homeless shelter since Aug. 16, and before that lived on the street for two months.

“There would be days where I wouldn’t eat for, like, two days,” he said.

When his parents kicked him out for being disobedient and disrespectful, he had nowhere else to go, but he still remembered how to be a teenager.

“Even when I was living on the streets, I would go to parties with a couple friends and go to movies,” he said.

Despite this, he faced a few challenges that the average, everyday teenager doesn’t.

He would often go hungry and have

Patrick Russell, 19, is the youngest resident of the COSAC homeless shelter and has been living there since August 16. Russell hopes to eventually go to college or join the army. Photo by Sarah Williamson

no way to feed himself, so resisting the urge to steal became an issue.

“It was a challenge not to go to the store and walk out with something,” he said. “I don’t like stealing because I know I don’t like it when people do it to me.”

Christopher, one of the security men on staff, works with Russell and said he’s just like a regular teenager.

“He’s not living the best teenage life because he’s living here,” Christopher said. “But we try to make him feel happy. He does what a teen would do:

goof around a lot.”

“When he gets out of high school, I hope he can do something with himself,” Christopher said. “He’s too young to be here. He’s only 19 years old.”

Sean Cononie, director and founder of the COSAC homeless shelter said he encourages Russell to be a teenager because “you got to have a life.”

“Sometimes, people take your life and you are forced to become an adult fast,” he said. “I think he’s a good kid.”

Wearing a black T-shirt that says “security” with a Bluetooth headset

We need Publix Gift Cards

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october 2012

call 954-410-6275

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attached to his ear, Russell stands outside of the garage with the sun beating down on him.

Living here has taught him a few things.

“Pride is something you need to get rid of,” Russell said.

Now he goes to school. When he graduates in January, he wants to join the army or attend college. Eventually, he wants to help homeless people.

“You can never lose who you are,” Russell said.

timE

Through Resistance, A Homeless Shelter Exists

By Michael Finch II Florida Atlantic University

T

he breast-shaped mirror left in the Haulover Inn said it all to Sean Cononie.

At the displeasure of local lawmakers, Cononie bought the building at 1203 North Federal Highway for $1.3 million in 2002.

He snatched the 22-room building and former “nudist hotel” up in a day and removed the stirrups, shackles and ceiling mirrors from the rooms.

“It was a top-notch establishment,” Cononie quipped.

It was the perfect location to place a homeless shelter, he thought.

Yet he has been viewed as a troublemaker, employing unconventional methods to deal with the homeless population. The most controversial issue being the shelter prints a monthly publication, employing vendors, who are also homeless men and women.

••• The first copy of the Homeless Voice was published on a single sheet of paper in 1999. It was a chronicle of events, published to steer clear of city ordinances that ban the homeless from walking in the streets.

It was a crafty use of press freedom in the First Amendment, Cononie admits.

At 18, Mark Targett was living out of his car when he first began vending the newspaper.

When he was in high school, Targett bought beepers from a store Cononie owned. When his mom kicked him out, he ended up working for Cononie.

Targett walked the streets a few days a week, collecting money from passers-by in exchange for a copy of the paper.

Targett soon became one of his top employees. He wanted to take the homeless off the street, to get them into homeless shelters.

“It was kind of a waste,” Targett said.

Relocating the homeless was pricey. It cost about $400 to place someone in a governmentrun shelter, Targett said.

They soon hatched a plan.

“There was no shelter,” Targett said. “No idea of a shelter.”

COSAC bought the hotel out of necessity. They were renting rooms in an apartment building in Hollywood, and it was nearly full.

Cononie knew he needed to do more.

••• The violent beating of Norris Gaynor, a 45-year-old drifter on a campus of Florida Atlantic University was a major turning point. Two teens were recorded plundering Gaynor with wooden bats in 2006.

Law enforcement officials called it “heinous” and local legislators, as a result, passed laws making it illegal to discriminate against homeless people.

Cononie was brought onto the “Dr. Phil Show” to speak about the issue.

“I think people took us a little bit more serious,” Cononie said of the appearance on the talk show.

Before the assault, Cononie, 48 was already fighting for destitute men and women.

He once tried to open a shelter in Fort Lauderdale but failed. He has been involved in legal battles with cities over vendors hawking copies of his publication.

Out of sheer will, Cononie runs the shelter and battles city councils over restrictive ordinances.

After about 10 years with the shelter, Cononie still wonders why he chose to help the homeless, and he credits most of it to the help he receives.

“I couldn’t have done this on my own,” he said.

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

1997 Sean Cononie creates the COSAC Foundation

Jan. 29, 1998 Cononie Opens his First Shelter at the Jo-Lin Apartments Source: Sun Sentinel

1999 The first issue of the Homeless Herald is published On a single sheet of paper, the Homeless Herald was published and given to residents to vend on the streets.

The name was later changed to the Homeless Voice.

March 2002 Negotiations fall through to buy a hotel in Fort Lauderdale Source: Sun Sentinel Cononie buys the Haulover Inn a few days later A former “nudist hotel,” the Haulover Inn, sells for $1.3 million, and Cononie begins renovating the 22-room space.

July 2, 2005 A judge rules the homeless shelter can stay A Broward County Circuit Court judge ruled on Friday that a homeless shelter on North Federal Highway does not violate city codes and can stay.

Source: Sun Sentinel

Jan. 12, 2006 Noriss Gaynor, a 45-year-old homeless man is attacked by two teens Source: CBS 4 Sean Cononie appears on “Dr. Phil” Sean Cononie speaks about attacks against the homeless population as seen on “Bum fights on the Dr. Phil Show.”

* Free Weddings * Free Memorial Services * Alternatives to Abortion * Healing Services

May 20, 2010 A law was passed by Gov. Charlie Crist announced the passage of legislation that would add violent acts against the homeless to the Florida hate crime statute.

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1203 N. Federal Highway Hollywood, FL 33020 954-924-3571 x316

october 2012

Sunday 8:30 pm - 9:30 pm

21

h e a lt h

I’m sexy and I’m homeless

By Ryan Cortes Florida Atlantic University

I

t was nearly 10 a.m. and Sean Cononie walked in.

“How you feeling?” I asked.

“Sexy,” the 340-pound COSAC founder said.

“Feeling sexy.”

Cononie smokes so many cigarettes doctors have told him he’d die if his lifestyle continued.

So Cononie began taking a flock of his homeless residents downstairs three to five times a week to dance and do aerobics.

Of course.

He said he’s dropped 30 pounds in the last three months. So now he works out shirtless.

Of course.

I had to see it to believe it, so I went for myself.

I’d match him cigarette for cigarette, lung health be damned. I’d also peel off my shirt, envious homeless dudes be damned.

We had an appointment at noon to work out and smoke cigarettes. Maybe at the same time, he had warned earlier. His office had plenty in it — cigarettes fresh and old buried in multiple ashtrays beneath signs declaring the room was non-smoking.

When I arrived Conoine was in the room next door dressed in a messy white T-shirt, big blue jeans and thick black shoes. Medical goggles strapped to the top of his head with a surgical mask covering his mouth, Cononie leaned in between two tight bunk beds, struggling to fit in, and taped bandage after bandage to a brittle old man with grey hair in a bed.

Not a doctor himself, Cononie smiled when he walked out — this was more alter ego than Conoine himself, he joked.

“I have a lot of different characters,” he said.

“That was Dr. Ramone, he comes and helps the people here. Sometimes, I’m Dr. Ramone, just really feminine. They like that one.”

He walked back into his office, lit up a Marlboro Red and turned the speaker system on, announcing to the entire facility: “Attention. We’ll be doing aerobics in the back in 10 minutes.”

Cononie leaned back, took another drag of his cigarette and grabbed the microphone.

“Repeat, aerobics in 10 minutes.”

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october 2012

Workout Time We smoked two more cigarettes before Cononie got up from his chair and changed in the back. A minute later he walked out, baggy black shorts with blue stripes and another cigarette in hand.

The two of us, along with Dee — one of his employees who has lived in the shelter for the last four years — and one of his security guys, Chris Padilla, piled into an elevator.

Residents crowded around as we waited for the doors to shut.

“Aerobics!” Cononie shouted at them. “Wanna come?”

“Wait,” Cononie said. “We can’t smoke in an elevator.”

He called over an older resident, dressed in beatup blue jeans and a ripped white shirt. “Put these out for me,” Cononie said. The man took both our cigarettes and literally crushed them in his fingers, covering his fingertips in messy black ash, his face in a wide grin.

Downstairs our crew surrounded a black SUV as the Black Eyed Peas blared from a speaker with Cononie encouraging the curious men and women around him to join in.

Cononie gyrated left, then right, throwing his arms out. “Gotta keep the hips moving!” he said. One man with a beard untrimmed for the better part of a decade walked over and joined. A 60-year-old woman named Linda came next, shaking her hips, covered in green shorts, a red lanyard and a black fanny pack.

22

Sean and Ryan share cigrarettes in his office pre-workout. Photos by Sarah Williamson

“Hey, honey,” Cononie said. “Let’s get those legs higher.”

Another Black Eyed Peas song came on — “That’s all we listen to,” he told me earlier — and Cononie was ready.

Off went his white shirt — and mine — as he turned to me and grabbed his gut, covered in hair.

“You don’t have this here, young man,” he teased.

Seconds later we were surrounded by a circle of residents. All dancing, all smiling. One old man, wearing a backward New England Patriots cap and clutching a walker, made his way to the middle.

Cononie jiggled behind him, grabbed the man’s arms and started dancing.

“Come on, baby,” he said.

Behind us sat the big black car and Cononie now had an announcement.

“Time for the SUV!” We lined up along the side of the car, our hands placed on the windows as Cononie began shaking his ass, the rest of us following suit.

“You’re young, man,” he said to me. “You gotta do this better.”

After pushups against the car and more dancing, Cononie pulled the plug on the music, to the dismay of all.

“Hold on,” he warned. “It’s time for I’m Sexy and I’m Homeless.”

Some residents beamed, others just danced in anticipation.

One older woman standing to my right heard the song begin, disintegrating into giggles and joy, her toothless smile showing. “I love this song!” she said.

“When I walk on by,” the YouTube parody song blared. “I smell like shit, and I’m covered in flies.”

“They love it man,” Cononie said. “It’s about them, and they don’t have to be ashamed.”

With the song over, Cononie put his shirt back on — inside out with the tag flapping everywhere — and clapped for his residents.

We walked back up and I struck a conversation with Ileen, a female resident who’s been around for the last six years. She had heard the commotion and told me she usually works out with Cononie and her friends. She grabbed her cigarette and sighed.

“He’s a special man,” she said about Cononie. “The reason why is that he’s at our level. We don’t have to grow taller to be at his level.”

She didn’t clap after, but maybe she should have.

(Above) Sean keeps the circle moving telling them to clap their hands and move their hips.

(Below) Ryan looks nervously at Sean as the audience only grows larger.

“I have a lot of different characters, that was Dr. Ramone, he comes and helps the people here. Sometimes, I’m Dr. Ramone, just really feminine.

They like that one.”

23

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Blending in Student journalist spends night on the streets of downtown Fort Lauderdale. pg. 11

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