Street Sense aims to serve as a vehicle for elevating voices and public debate on issues relating to poverty while also creating economic opportunities for people who are experiencing homelessness in our community.
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Setting imprisoned minds free.
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Budget surplus fuels adult literacy effort.
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Nights on Blues Alley.
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Inkflow: international man of mystery.
COVER ART Saving Squirreltown written and illustrated by tyler harchelroad
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Each vendor functions as an independant contractor for Street Sense. That means he or she reinvests in the organization with every purchase.
BOARD OF DIRECTORS Yebegashet Alemayehu, Margaret Chapman, Kristal Dekleer, Robin Heller, Heidi Keller, Robyn Kerr, Sommer Mathis, Manas Mohapatra, Reed Sandridge, Brad Scriber, Allison Sherry, Michael Stoops
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Street Sense publishes the newspaper.
75% 75% supports the vendors helping them overcome homelessness and poverty.
Street Sense
INTERNS Danielle Clemons, Kristen Farnam, Tyler Harchelroad, Angela Harvey, Molly Kraybill, Kelsey Reid, Carla Yengo-Kahn
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25% 25% supports the production costs at Street Sense.
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The remainder of your $2 donation directly supports the vendor.
@streetsensedc /streetsensedc OUR STORY Street Sense began in August 2003 after Laura Thompson Osuri and Ted Henson approached the National Coalition for the Homeless on separate occasions with the idea to start a street paper in Washington, D.C. Through the work of dedicated volunteers, Street Sense published its first issue in November 2003. In 2005, Street Sense achieved 501 ( c ) 3 status as a nonprofit organization, formed a board of directors and hired a full-time executive director. Today, Street Sense is published every two weeks through the efforts of four salaried employees, more than 100 active vendors, and dozens of volunteers. Nearly 30,000 copies are in circulation each month.
1. Street Sense will be distributed for a voluntary donation of $2.00, I agree not to ask for more than two dollars or solicit donations for Street Sense by any other means. 2. I will only purchase the paper from Street Sense staff and volunteers and will not sell papers to other vendors. 3. I agree to treat all others, including customers, staff, volunteers, and other vendors, respectfully at all times. I will refrain from threatening others, pressuring customers into making a donation, or in engaging in behavior that condones racism, sexism, classism, or other prejudices. 4. I agree not to distribute copies of Street Sense on metro trains and buses or on private property. 5. I agree to abide by the Street Sense vendor territorial policy at all times and will resolve any related disputes I
EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR Brian Carome EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Mary Otto ART DIRECTOR Eric Falquero SALES MANAGER Brandon Caudill Director of Marketing & communications Rebecca Stewart
have with other vendors in a professional manner. 6. I understand that I am not an employee of Street Sense, Inc. but an independent contractor. 7. I agree to sell no additional goods or products when distributing Street Sense. 8. I will not distribute Street Sense under the influence of drugs or alcohol.
VOLUNTEERS Monica Anderson, Jane Cave, Margaret Chapman, Jeffrey Gray, Jane Goforth, Roxanne Goldberg, Marisa Grotte, Roberta Haber, Alison Heasley, Thomas Hedges, Jesse Helfrich, Maurice King, Sean Lishansky, Victoria Hatterman O’Banion, Jenny Hopkinson, Ashley Perks, David Piper, Michael Quizon, Kristin Roach, Mark Rose, Willie Schatz, David Sellers, David Serota, Kate Sheppard, Ernie Smith, Lydia Stepanek, Charlotte Tucker, Bryan Watkins, Marian Wiseman, Eugene Versluysen VENDORS Clinton Allen, Gerald Anderson, Glenn Artis, Aida Basnight, Grady Baxter, Kenneth Belkosky, Phillip Black, Reginald Black, Viktor Blokhine, John Branges, André Brinson, Seneca Cooper, Anthony Crawford, Kwayera Dakari, James Davis, Clifton Davis, Chino Dean, David Denny, Alvin Dixon El, Pieus Ennels, Linda Euell, Samuel Fullwood, Larry Garner, Shakaye Henry, Ibn Hipps, Phillip Howard, James Huges, Leonard Hyater, Donald Johnson, Carlton Johnson, Morgan Jones, Allen Jones, Mark Jones, Anne Marie Kirby, John Littlejohn, Authertimer Matthews, John Matthews, Kina Matthis, Jeffery McNeil, Juanita Mendez, Cynthia Mewborn, Kenneth Middleton, Gary Minter, L. Morrow, Ash-shaheed Rabbil, Veda Simpson, Gwynette Smith, Terron Solomon, Warren Stevens Jr, Tony Sutton, Sybil Taylor, O. Shernell Thomas, Eric Thompson-Bey, Sarah Turley-Colin, Jacqueline Turner, Ronald Verquer, Martin Walker, Michael Warner, Angelyn Whitehurst, Wendell Williams
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STREET SENSE July 17 - 30, 2013
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NEWS
Arlington Tigers Prepare for Cup By Kristen Farnam and Kelsey Reid Editorial Interns Straggling in late and from all directions on a recent evening, members of the Arlington Tigers, and a few folks who just wanted to play a little soccer, gathered at a community park in suburban Virginia. Just one more week for practice. Then July 19, the Tigers, would board a bus to New York City to compete in the Street Soccer USA National Open Cup Championship. On July 20, they would join Street Soccer USA teams made up of homeless and formerly homeless athletes from all over the country. At these games, players vie for victory and perhaps a place on the US National team that will go on to represent America in the 48-nation Homeless World Cup. Players dream of more basic things as well: stable housing, decent jobs, better lives. The nonprofit Street Soccer USA aims to help them, building teamwork, sportsmanship and job readiness skills through play. On this recent evening, Tigers coach Sarah Morse arrived on the scene with a load of equipment: jerseys, shorts, socks, cleats, soccer balls, goals and cones. Greeting most players by name or nick-
name, she worked to make each man feel valued and welcome. Then the Tigers began with their usual warm-ups; running around the makeshift field Morse set up with neon cones behind the baseball diamonds of the park. Next came stretching and some touch work. Then, finally, the men got to play. The Tigers are sponsored by the Arlington Street People’s Assistance Network (A-SPAN), a nonprofit that serves Arlington area’s homeless population. But they can also count on support from a growing number of community volunteers. “Most people come once a week, but there are a lot of new folks,” said Morse, who works for A-SPAN. This year will mark the young team’s second National Cup journey. Only two men present at the recent evening practice went to New York for last year’s Cup. One of them was Dalitso Kumtumanji, 47, from Malawi, who grew up playing the sport. “I’m from Africa, so that’s the game,” he said with a smile. Kumtumanji’s favorite position is defender, but street soccer is played in teams of four against
four on small custom-built courts so each player must take on all positions. During the Cup, teams are allowed to bring up to eight players, so that during the games, they can be subbed out, but last year, the Tigers only had five players. Because of their lack of substitutes, Kumtumanji said the men grew tired quickly. “There were too many games- one game after another,” he said. Then too, the team only practices from spring until the fall. When the A-SPAN emergency shelter opens in the winter, Morse has other duties that take her away from the Tigers. Still, she hopes to find a way to help the team continue to evolve. “Hopefully this winter we’ll get into an indoor team,” noted Morse. Then, her attention turned toward the cup. She noted that the North Carolina, New York and Minneapolis teams would be the ones to beat. Look for coverage of the Cup in the next issue of Street Sense or follow it live on our Twitter and follow #tigerscup13.
The Arlington Tigers practice for the Street Soccer USA National Cup July 11 at Jennie Dean Park in South Arlington. The team’s jerseys were donated by organizers of the former DC Knights street soccer team. PHOTOS BY KELSEY REID
Photos by Molly Kraybill
Project Sets Imprisoned Minds Free By Molly Kraybill Photojournalism Intern If you’re a 17-year-old stuck in solitary confinement day-in and day-out at the DC jail, you may feel at a loss for words. But across the city, in the basement of the Church of the Pilgrims near Dupont Circle, a group of volunteers is dedicated to breaking through that sense of isolation–with books. The Free Minds Book Club and Writing Workshop was founded in 2002 by co-directors Kelli Taylor and Tara Libert after Taylor formed a friendship with a young inmate on Texas’ death row. His world was transformed by reading and writing as books were sent to him in prison. After his execution, Taylor and Libert felt called to use books as a tool to connect with teenagers. “We have too many incarcerated youth and are failing to do anything about it,” said Libert. The Book Club meets weekly with teenagers in the DC jail, where members discuss a book or participate in creative writing workshops. A majority of them face three to seven year sentences but some are in for more lengthy ones, even life. DC prisoners are relocated to federal prisons when they turn 18. While many of them are far away from loved ones and moral support, Free Minds continues to have a relationship with them, mailing them books, writing assignments, and most importantly, feedback on their own writing. This is where the community steps in. Volunteers in the Church of the Pilgrims
basement meet once a month for Write Nights. They gather around tables covered in printed sheets of Free Minds members’ poetry. The volunteers, who are artists, students, or writers themselves, have one goal: cover each poem with as much positive feedback, as many drawings, and as many words of support as possible. “I haven’t read poetry since high school,” Melanie, a volunteer, said as she wrote a comment on one of the poems. “This is the best poetry I’ve ever read.” The poetry is then sent back to the individuals in prison. It’s a simple but important way of validating their writing skills and also their personal stories, as most of the poetry is about their regrets, family or life before prison. And the best part is that the scribbled notes from strangers on their poetry mean the world to them. “Reading the comments is the highlight of their week,” Libert said. Kuron Callelo is one of three formerly incarcerated men at the Write Night. Each man takes a turn sharing with the volunteers how important the program was to them while serving time. “Free Minds is a blessing. It inspired me to do things I never thought I could. It is the reason I picked up a book in the first place,” he said. Libert reminds the volunteers that although the men are behind bars, their minds are not. “They are speaking. You are listening. And that’s important,” she says. To read poetry from Free Mind members, visit their website: http://freemindsbookclub.wordpress.com/
STREET SENSE July 17 - 30, 2013
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News
Budget Surplus Helps Fund Adult Literacy By Angela Harvey, Editorial Intern
For years Gracie Cunningham felt her limited reading skills were holding her back from job opportunities. She cleaned office buildings while raising her children and helping to raise her grandsons. But when she lost her job,and her unemployment benefits ran out she decided it was time to reach for her goal of literacy. “Something inside of me said, ‘you can do better.’ It was in my heart to do it. The man upstairs said to me, ‘go on and go back to school, you can do it,’” Cunningham said. “No one is ever too old to go back to school.” This month the D.C. City Council showed its support for adult education when it approved a $1 million increase in funding for adult literacy programs in the FY14 Budget Support Act bill. The council had to decide where to spend the city’s $50 million surplus. In all, $4.3 million dollars was allocated for adult and family education programs that offer post-secondary education and workforce readiness. The Office of the State Superintendent of Education predicts the money will assist over 3,400 adult learners, like Cunningham, to improve their reading, math, and computer skills, earn a GED or get career training. These days, Cunningham, 58, attends adult basic literacy education classes at Literacy Volunteers and Advocates, a nonprofit organization dedicated to addressing
problems of illiteracy. In two locations in the District, LVA offers classes, one-on-one tutoring and a summer book club. It assists adults with phonics, life-skills reading, math, computer skills and more. There is a fine art to teaching adults how to read, said LVA’s executive director Rita Daniels. “The first rule in adult education is adults learn best in topics they want to know or need to know,” Daniels noted. The lesson offered “must meet their immediate needs or it’s not going to work.” Daniels is passionate about helping adults gain confidence through literacy. Her own grandmother never learned to read or write during her lifetime. “I can’t imagine what she went through not ever writing her name, not ever being able to read her Bible,” she said. “That bothers me to this day.” While the average learner at LVA is 45 years old, students range in age from older teenagers to people in their 80s. The organization does not like to describe reading abilities by grade level, but says most students are at a sixth grade reading level or below when they begin. “There is definitely an array of abilities in the classes,” said Koya M. Bakare, the volunteer coordinator. “When you measure by grade level it is not all-encompassing. Someone who maybe at a fourth-grade reading level may also be at a higher level in math.”
Saving the Earth, One Recycled Bottle at a Time By Cynthia “C=MB2” Mewborn, Vendor
What do waste diversion and the 4th Annual Punjabi Mela Festival have in common with Street Sense vendors? Well, just a second chance for the homeless population to gradually get back into the work force, that’s all! A crowd of more than 12,000 showed up on May 26 for this year’s celebration of Punjabi culture, held at Bull Run Regional Park in Centreville, VA. With children’s laughter and the aroma of different tantalizing foods filling the air, the variety of beautiful, colorful clothing sparkling against the blue skies, green grass and the live Indian music, one could easily feel transported, for just a brief moment, to a farway place and time. But several of us Street Sense vendors were also there with a very down-to-earth mission. We were commissioned to provide customer service, ground maintenance and educate event patrons about the importance of recycling and properly disposing of food containers and other items. This was the second collaboration between the Waste Diversion LLC “Green Team” and Street Sense vendors. And the effort had an impact. “The Green Team collected over 1,815
gallons of recyclable material during the event,” said Robert Howard, a human resource representative at Waste Diversion. Waste Diversion LLC first extended employment opportunities to Street Sense vendors in 2012 during the Taste of DC. As a result of outstanding work from Street Sense vendors, this relationship has continued to develop. Recycling and education is what Waste Diversion is all about, and large local, national and international events here in Washington offer great opportunities to teach the public about responsible and sustainable ways to dispose of trash. Meanwhile, these events offer homeless individuals who have fallen out of the workforce an opportunity to gradually migrate back into the work force, verses just dropping them into an environment where aptitudes have been negatively affected by not working for years. The most important thing I’ve observed about this organization and Street Sense vendors is that both parties are willing to give each other a try and that’s the most important step ever! Congratulations Waste Diversion “Green Team” for giving the homeless population a second chance back to work!!!!
Nationally, about 15 percent of adults lack basic literacy skills. It can be difficult for them to fill out a job application, maintain a bank account or help their children with school work. Locally, about 85,000 District residents, nearly 20 percent of the population, struggle with reading, according to the National Center for Education Statistics. The increase in city funding will go a long way for organizations like LVA. The weekly summer book club will have up to 50 participants when it begins July 16. When regular classes begin again in September, LVA expects to serve more than 200 learners in the adult basic literacy education classes and one-on-one tutor-
ing sessions. Cunningham said she has made significant progress in her reading and math skills since beginning the adult education classes and working with a tutor. She started in 2011, and comes to the center daily. The staff praised her as a highlymotivated learner. She reads constantly, participates in peer teaching and regularly does homework. Her confidence builds with each small milestone in her journey to a lifelong objective. “My goal is to get my GED. I will continue with these classes as long as it takes to reach that goal,” Cunningham said. “And when I move up that ladder, I’m going to help other people.”
Shelter at St. Elizabeths Faces Uncertain Future By Reginald “Da’ Street Reportin’ Artist” Black, Vendor The city has huge plans for the 180-acre St. Elizabeths East property. But will these plans include the homeless? In a decade, District leaders hope to see a $2.5 billion “Innovation Hub,” complete with federal offices and technology enterprises rising on the grounds of the historic psychiatric hospital located on Martin Luther King Jr. Ave. SE. The St Elizabeths East Redevelopment project, which is slated to take shape adjacent to the future home of the U.S. Department of Homeland Security headquarters, will require the restoration of some of the existing buildings at the hospital and the demolition of others. One of the buildings scheduled to be razed is identified on maps and plans for the project simply as 81A. But homeless advocates call the building 801 East. It’s a year-round men’s emergency shelter with 380 beds, run by Catholic Charities.. At a July 2 hearing on a the project held by the D.C. City Council’s Committee of Economic Development, advocates for the shelter residents asked about future plans for homeless services on the St. Elizabeths site. They got no firm answers, but some information from officials. Committee Chairwoman Muriel Bowser said she hoped a facility that would better serve the homeless would replace the current shelter. “I don’t think we should settle for rebuilding homeless shelters, I think that we should make sure that we are finding building and creating and putting people in permanent supportive housing with services,” Bowser said. Bowser then turned to Catherine Buell, the executive director of St. Elizabeths East Redevelopment for more details. “What are the implications for the homeless population?” Bowser asked Buell. Buell responded: “Our master plan does contemplate the
homeless shelter,” said Buell. “It will be relocated in what we are calling our FEMA (Federal Emergency Management Agency) or Federal Use Parcel. We are working to establish a timeline with GSA (General Services Administration) and FEMA, but as of right now nothing has been set.” When asked when the relocation would take place, Buell said, “In Phase 2. If we had our way Phase 2 would happen next year. We would eagerly move quickly if GSA and FEMA commit.” Robert Warren, director of People for Fairness Coalition said he hoped that the homeless men of 801 East would be given opportunities to work on the construction project as it advances. “I know that it was stated that when they were building Homeland Security that district residents would be able to obtain jobs during that construction,” Warren said. “From my knowledge, not one person who is actually a resident of 801 East, a homeless person or a jobless person was able to obtain a job right across the street from where they are living at. I’m hoping that we won’t have the same thing that happened with the West campus with district residents not getting in these jobs.” Contacted by this reporter after the hearing, Erik Salmi, a spokesman for the Catholic Charities for the Archdiocese of Washington said that Catholic Charities has not been involved in planning for the site so far but would raise the issue of the needs of the homeless as the project moves forward. “At this early time in the process, we have not been part of any discussions surrounding the future of the St. Elizabeth’s space,” said Salmi. “We will be urging planners to consider the vulnerable, homeless residents receiving services and ensuring that they are not forgotten in this process.”
I Told You So
By Michael Alexander Bennett Volunteer A gassing grill The oven stove A potent pill Of burning love A bucket list A thinking thought Is this a fight That should be fought A gift to give To save a life Forever man Forever wife Back in the day Of son of Sam Of Watergate, of Vietnam The hippie hope So sad to say Some answers in A hanging rope For civil rights He had a dream So many die So many fights To say it best, too soon a death Martin, John and Malcolm X There was a man who gave us hope He made us fans of rope a dope Untouch the ways of Willie Mays Of Jackie R, the disco days And yes the war in Vietnam What was it for?, they give a damn? A 33, a 45, the hoola hoop The jaws of jive A terror strike and hunger rules The price of Nike, they break the rules And so I fear How are we here? To have some kooks, To build some nukes? To some so fun, to shoot a gun Abortion waves, killing our babes I’ll make a map The false is true Of gangster rap Their corner crew Where do I stop? And endless flow The clueless crop Growing to grow The sight of footprints In the sand True power in Us holding hands I’ll walk away Won’t let it go So sad to say I told you so
Celestial Subterranea Pt. 1 By Dele Akerejah, Vendor
In a dark and unlucky city with black onyx, slightly dilapidated and looming from the unscalable heights, an intimidating granite stone face overlooked the town: tin shanties of the marketplace spanning the city limits, a Gotham-like atmosphere of black, grey and tin all subsumed under a sky of thick, rust-colored clouds constantly flickering with purple thunder and acid rain threats. This was mostly a byproduct of the Eighth World War and the massive suspended hive, a sky colony that only the insiders had seen, and those below only dreaded. Without one looking up too much the giant iron hive with opaque windows created the same awe that the star known as the Sun did before the greed inspired man made war of the apocalypse. The population below were all silent vassals and peasants of the castle in the sky. They managed their piteous affairs of commerce and survival going about in squalid rags mostly, constantly concealing their pennies from the lawless rogues, bandits and gangs that they were the unwilling fodder of.
Lanterns of kerosene and lamp posts with shoddy wiring were the only sources of light in this city barricaded in by jagged mountains and low topography. Animal life of the lower orders was largely wiped out. Plant life was merely a myth in the minds of the citizen majority of Neohades. Scattered about were barren plots of rocklike soil that could just as well be asphalt. The “Company”, an openly secret and powerful organization set up oxygen processing machines, interspersing them throughout the city of Neohades in order to keep the squalid, struggling people below the dome marginally alive and struggling, but never living. One could hardly call the existence of people in these conditions “life” in the way earlier generations could. In order to eat, many people competed in the market for vegetables and small rodents which were largely for the rich. Freeze dried astronaut supply rations were produced by the hydroponic irrigation systems of the Hive. Although the food distributed as ra-
tions in the dark city of Neohades was tasteless, it was high in demand and voraciously coveted. Meanwhile, it was rumored that the inhabitants of the Hive gorged themselves on cloned sheep, bison, fowl, bulbed and green vegetables, the sort of things that were enjoyed rather commonly on the “Old Earth.”. The ravenous hordes of the streets below traded betrayals, alliances, body parts, organs and human chattel amongst other things to keep this cannibalistic cycle going on from day to day. (to be continued)
Ode to Summer By Gwynette Smith, Vendor
Summer is my favorite season And the list goes on for many reasons. The warm weather and the long days; Only briefly does the sky show a cloudy haze. Flowers seem to be everywhere And people are more without a care. Lovers can be more clearly seen Holding hands, or going out Dressed really clean. Children play and laugh and scream, It’s summer! Time for lots of ice cream! Fountains sprinkle water on the ground, And the summer heat is ALL around. Take a little more time and Smell the air. Smile a little more to whoever is there. The joy is fast, then gets slow As summer’s days come, then Prepare to go.
Control Alt Delete Freak By James Davis, Vendor
I’m a control alt delete freak, don’t send me anything you want me to remember. I like things in nice compartments, not severed like a body member. I don’t like junk mail and don’t eat spam, which is why I missed your wedding. If my computer printed everything on screen I’d spend most of my vacation shredding. I’m a control alt delete freak. I like to start things out on a clean slate. It’s just like going to an all-you can-eat buffet and using up all the plates. My head is so full of rhymes, to remember them all would be so sweet, but every time I start to make an entry I become a control alt delete freak.
NCIS Spoiler Alert! By Ken Belkosky, Vendor
It has been three years since Tony and Ziva got married, and they got a big case. It seems like a friend of Gibbs needs his help. They did not know Gibbs had retired so they asked Tony and Ziva for help. A friend of Gibbs’ children needs help. She is scared of this person because he knew of Gibbs’ past and the Mexican drug cartel. When Gibbs finds out, he helps the new team. But he ends up getting killed because it was the President of Mexico troubling the team, who was also the friend of Gibbs’ child. Tony gets mad that our government gave the President a free ride so he sets out for revenge for the life of his old boss.
STREET SENSE July 17 - 30, 2013
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vendor writing A Forthcomin-1st Part By Maurice Davis, Volunteer
When you heal a woman-you heal a nation. So until we heal them, our nation will continue to be in disarray. Look at all the sicknesses which we have subjected our women to live in. Look at all the ills they endure, like the death of their children in the streets of which they live. The abuse and neglect which they and their children suffer, especially in their own environment-by people they know and even worse their blood relatives or spouse. Look at all the women who are mentally and physically abused-due to their addictions to crack, morphine, meth, PCP, heroin, or whatever. Their loved ones watch as they roam the city streets embalmed in the stench of homelessness, funk and lost-hope. It is this dark overlooked reality that is the basis behind the perils to which our nation has been exposed. And until this and! None of us and especially our nation will ever be free from the infestation of mayhem that abides here. This excerpt is from Volume 7 of Maurice Davis’ series, Hoodcries: a collection of poetry and stories describing life on the streets and in prison. Davis may be contacted at hoodcriez@gmail.com.
All Praises Due to God By Lester L. Benjamin, Vendor
All praises foremost, to God, and then to Street Sense. My name is Lester L. Benjamin and I am a Street Sense vendor (#486). I am from Smithfield, NC, born and raised. I moved here to Washington, DC in 2012 with a very special friend. But, through my used-to-be-way-of-life, it has been hard for me to find a job. By the grace of God, I am now able to eat and at least live without stealing and committing crimes. I would like to thank each and every person that blesses me by purchasing the Street Sense newspaper from me. It has been a blessing for me regardless of all of the pain and misery that I have endured. On February 4 of this year, I lost a very special part of my life, my one and only son. Travis Dontrell Johnson died at the age of 22 from an enlarged heart. I am hurting so bad. It is extremely hard for me to deal with. Sometimes I want to take my own life, just to see if he’s okay, but I can’t. God makes no mistakes and he will not put any pain or suffering on anyone that cannot bear it. However, again, my one and only son didn’t leave me hanging because he left me a beautiful granddaughter named Katrina Destiny Johnson. She just turned one on June 23. God bless you all, Street Sense, and thank you for at least giving me a chance. I can’t forget a very special friend, Larry, who introduced me to Street Sense. God bless you all and again, thank you so dearly.
The Two Forces
By Robert Tyler II, Volunteer Two fists clash unleashing energy That rips the grass. Mountains Shake from such force as this intense Impact bursts from the source. The Sky on the right brightens like Heaven’s aura. The sky on the left Darkens like the eyes of Satan, filled With lightning and destruction. The Spirits hide in fear, mortals faint When they hear, the war of the Century is upon us all. Soaring blades And mighty wings, unholy fire and roars Ring throughout other worlds. Many Sing… for the Lord to triumph over The beast whose hunger is far from ceased.
Capture Love
By David Denny, Vendor I cannot capture on paper the macabre or the gray Nor the wan expressions of a gloomy day My pen can’t describe in words the pain That a ravaged soul pours out like rain And I can’t draw a picture of the darkness inside Where insecurity, fear and doubt try to hide Let me express the wonders of love The infinite heavens and stars above The subtle look in a mother’s eyes And that warm embrace when her baby cries. For I cannot capture on paper the fate Of the lost souls that harbor hate Nor the evil thoughts buried below Where the seeds of evil start to grow Just let me express the wonders of love And the saving grace from God above.
Photos by Molly Kraybill
Healthy Doses of Summer By Molly Kraybill Photojournalism Intern For many children, summer is filled with trips to the pool, chasing fireflies in the backyard and adventures at sleep-away camp. There is time to play and dream. But homeless children can easily miss out on such treats. Enter the Homeless Children’s Playtime Project, which offers creative play opportunities with a goal of counteracting the trauma of homelessness and ensuring healthy development. Year-round, the youth embark on field
trips, participate in art and imaginative play, and celebrate holidays together. And this summer, in partnership with the Capitol Hill Arts Workshop, HCCP children are able to attend summer camp. Here they spend their morning dancing and doing arts and crafts, and head out on field trips in the afternoon. Children who would have otherwise been in the confines of a shelter are now able to enjoy their summer vacation just as much as their classmates.
STREET SENSE July 17 - 30, 2013
Feature
A Mother’s Love By Rashawn Bowser Vendor I love my baby, even though he makes me mad sometimes. I would do anything for him just to make him glad. I would shoot, kill and destroy this world if I can just see him smile. I love my little son with all that I am, even when I’m down. I love to watch my son as he plays around and I will watch over him even from my grave. I love my sweet baby, so young and pure. I will always love him even when I’m through.
Children’s art: Glittering Stars by MC, age 11
There are 1,868 children experiencing homelessness in the District. The Homeless Children’s Playtime Project visits 6 different transitional housing and emergency shelter programs to provide weekly activities, healthy snacks, and opportunities to play and learn to as many children as possible.
Courtesy of the Homeless Children’s Playtime Project
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The Street Sense Writers’ Group is led by two writing professionals and meets every Wednesday at 10:30 a.m. The group’s goal is to develop ideas and collaborate on the next great issue of Street Sense.
Before the rain #26: Guess I’m Walkin’ to new orleans By Chris Shaw, “The Cowboy Poet”
Chang glowered across the narrow, dimly lit cave that was Kelly Joe’s on Houston Street, in downtown Manhattan. He could scarcely believe his eyes, especially not what his pointy ears captured in the smoky haze. Loomis was somehow center of the raked, Rialto-lit stage, crooning tolerably, a Sinatra-esque “I GOT YA UNDER MY SKIN.” Ovetta squealed her raw delight, in contrast to the dour chauffeur, who kept muttering over and over,”What is he doing, that sick Fool--” Another point of view was firmly set on Loomis Reader. Lyndsey, of course, wasn’t thinking of the Jonathan Akula nonsense right now, but was just delighted that her Akashic clues had at last gelled into some bizarre form of a happy reality. Just then, the “pit band” struck up NIGHT TRAIN and all pandemonium broke out at the front of this funky little “boite.” Ovetta, clearly in her cups, (all doubled D’s of them), rushed forward, suddenly inspired to do a strip tease. Chang flew, literally across two waiters trying to save his boss lady’s dignity. Loomis, remarking “Too late for DAT, dear lady,” dove off of the stage at just
that moment. Out back in the alley, Scrozzo, the head bouncer of the joint known as Kelly Joe’s, had just turned a mid-sized dumpster filled with rusty cans, fish heads, and similar lovely objects atop none other than LEGBA and VICTOR! How they got to SoHo so quick defies description, so let’s just term it either lil’ bit of levitatin’, or some plain ol’ PRESTI-DIJ’TATIN’!! And who but LOOMIS leapt clear into the arms of- Dat’s Right Folks, LYNDSEY PATTISON- her own sweet but increasingly “Baad” Self! “There’s a cab, Loomis. I’ve got some cash left-” “So let’s Vamoose,” cried Loomis, clutching her left hand.”Wh-why, YOU GOT TH’MARK!” Somehow Lyndsey had acquired the Akashic squiggly hook with the Ankh-like loop above it, in the middle of her hand. Ali, their cab-driver and brand-new savior, yelped, “My friends, a skeleton in a top hat and a big, scary, white Zombie guy are closing in on my cab--” Loomis glanced in horror at Lyndsey. “So DO somethin’ --PLEASE!!”
Lyndsey rolled back her eyes, rubbed the sacred tattoo, and chanted. “Agash, abulash, A-Bab-BASH!! AGTHH---” Now, between them and the cemetery pals, ran a massive, monstrous herd of dun-colored, hairy, prehistoric oxen, or AUROCHS. Ali and the sway-back taxicab took off like Aladdin’s carpet. “We’re headed for the George Washington Bridge, sir,” gulped Lyndsey, recovering quickly from her magical hallucination. When they skidded to a halt at 175th and the Concourse, the fare, which (allowing for excess speed) came to 85 bucks. As they disembarked, Loomis clutched his head. “I can’t make that bridge. This kind of HEIGHT don’t agree with my psyche...” Lyndsey put on her best John Belushi shrug, complete with pathetically scrunched eyebrows. “Ali, sir, I’m sorry, what can I say, ummm, Effendi..?” “Okay, okay, you win, lady. I’m just an old softy, so we’ll drop you off in Jersey. Hate to see your boyfriend slide over the rail or something, you know?” “Thanks, Ali. God Bless,” sighed the
Being in the Wrong Place
The Poet
By Aida Basnight-Peery, Vendor
On Dec 31, 2012, my husband and I were sitting, waiting for the bus after leaving a friend’s house, where we had eaten New Year’s dinner. We had been sitting at the bus stop on 13th and Pennsylvania Ave SE for a few minutes when suddenly we were surrounded by police cars. I thought something might have happened inside the Chinese restaurant, because they stopped right in front of it. Then our bus, the 32 going toward Friendship Heights, pulled up to the stop. I proceeded to get on the bus. When I looked back to see if my husband was boarding the bus, I saw a bunch of police officers surrounding him. So, I got off the bus to see what they were asking my husband. Next thing I knew, two female police officers, a blonde with blue eyes, and her partner who was much smaller and of Indian or Spanish descent, started searching me. They looked through my pockets and told me to raise my arms while they searched me. Then they asked for my name and I told them I was Mrs. Basnight. Then they wanted to see my ID, which I couldn’t find inside my purse because I was very upset about being searched by the two female officers. The police arrested my husband. The police report claimed that he threw me in front of a bus, but the bus didn’t hit me and the police responded within minutes of receiving a phone call reporting us.
Apparently a 13-year-old girl had called the police to report that my husband hit me and supposedly threw me in front of a bus. But if that were true, how on earth could I have remained calm within minutes of the police officers arriving? And then, if I was supposed to be an assault victim, why had they searched me as if I were a criminal? No ambulances came to the scene of this supposed crime. None of the officers told me to go to the police station and no one took any photos of my injuries from this alleged assault. The story just had so many holes in it I was completely baffled. Four days later, we both went to court and the judge saw that I had not been assaulted by anyone, and no witnesses came to the hearing to back up those allegations. I told the judge and the prosecutors that my husband didn’t do any of those things to me. The prosecutor dug up an old conviction for a crime my husband committed when he was 19 years old. My husband had served his time for the offense a long time ago. But the judge looked at that case and said, “you’re capable of assaulting your wife!” Anyone is capable of doing anything in life, but that doesn’t mean that they are going to do it! Especially trying to murder your own wife in full public view and in front of a bus driver! Even though the police arrived before the bus did! If my
frazzled Ms. Pattison. As the dusty, little, green sedan spun back around toward Manhattan, in the Fort Lee toll plaza, the spreading gold of the rising sun streamed through the massive girders of the G.W. Bridge and traced the bent but heroic silhouettes of Loomis and Lyndsey, starting the arduous trudge back to home, hoofing alongside the roadway, like Toto and Dorothy leaving OZ. Loomis hummed faintly, wearily, a familiar strain. “Dumm dumm dum Dwamm Dwim dwum dwam DWEEM Dum, uhh..this time we’re WALKIN’ To --New OR-LEANS...” Meanwhile back at the Beauty-Torium on Canal, Missy Gaulinfat witnessed the switching back on of some much-needed City electrical power. “POSEIDON!! We got da Juice flowin’,” she screamed with joy to her husband, who was cowering behind the Formica counter. The first thing she heard was the ancient jukebox, roaring back to life with Fats Domino, “AH’M WALK-IN’ TO NEW- OR-L’NS; AN’ HOPIN- THAT-CHA SAW ME... NEW ORL’NS IS MY HOME, NEVER MORE TO ROAM...” (To be continued)
By Robert Warren, Vendor husband tried to throw me in front of a bus, why didn’t the bus stop and wait for the police? Because this whole story was fabricated by a 13-year-old child. The male police officer who was also supposed to be a witness against my husband couldn’t even pick me out in the courtroom, because he never spoke to me that night! Despite all of this, my husband ended up serving 60 days in jail and paying a $50.So, I need a lawyer, and I don’t want a public defender. I need a lawyer that I can pay out of pocket. I believe Judge Stephen F. Eilperin and the prosecutor violated my husband’s constitutional rights by using a 30-year-old case that has already been closed to make a ruling on another case. To say that my husband is “capable of assaulting me” is absurd. I am a 57-year-old woman who is sane and of sound mind. Why would I suddenly get involved with a man that is abusive to me? I have never been involved in an abusive relationship with anyone! When I was living in the shelter, I didn’t allow staff to talk to me in an abusive manner. I left and slept on benches and in tents. So, why would I do it now? I am not that desperate to have a man in my life after not having a man for several years. I know that domestic violence is a very serious issue. But that’s not what happened in this case.
I love to read poets whose poems don’t make sense to me as we sit around the table and try to see what they see. To find oneself in a place and time trying to better understand the poem’s rhythm and rhyme, To see how deep we may go on a journey to nowhere ‘cause no one really knows but the poet, whose poems are sometimes the butt of a good joke, and if you don’t get it someone will let you know The sound of words when only the poet knows. Sometimes when a thought comes deep deep down from my soul, I too can write lines of words nobody knows but the people who sit at the table and read and write poems. Nobody knows where their words come from, deep deep down in their souls. The game only they know. The words of others speak to our souls.
STREET SENSE July 17 - 30, 2013
11
opinion
How Reading and Writing Helped Me By Jeffery Mcneil, Vendor
Before I came to Street Sense, I didn’t enjoy reading. I made attempts at reading books but never completed them. I believe the reason was I had no purpose. However, any skill can be improved through dedication and practice. Although I wrote numerous articles, I didn’t like my work being edited. So with help from my editor and writing classes, I worked to improve my writing; although my grammar is still suspect, it has improved. Before I came to Street Sense, I was functionally illiterate, could barely read at a seventh grade level and had a hard time focusing. I cringe at some of my earlier writings; they were more like rants and weren’t based on evidence, just opinions. My earlier works were written under the influence and incoherent. To make matters worse, I had poor study skills. I took my last drink on Aug 3, 2009 and the first book I ever read completely was the big book of Alcoholics Anonymous and the Twelve and Twelve. I kept a journal and read the literature. Having someone guide me helped me develop my mind. My writing improved. Every morning now I write for at least five minutes. I recommend this exercise because it clears your thoughts. Although I like writing, I also like reading and research. I wasn’t a born writer. I never wrote anything down and didn’t take things seriously. However, writing has taught me that rewards in life come from doing things for yourself. I thank God for not giving me a mindset of helplessness, but giving me a work ethic. Learning to read gave me liberation. Before I spout off on any subject now, I read and study the topic. I believe I do my best work when I get to the cause, then the conclusion. The world knows why things are screwed up but few people have an answer to solve them. I used to be a political writer, now I consider myself an independent writer. As a former socialist and activist, I used to believe that problems were caused by the system. I joined many homeless and civil rights marches, I also considered running for some public office as an independent. Because of my reading, however, my philosophy has changed. I gain strength from the Scriptures, I read a verse from the Bible everyday. I believe reading about moral strength has helped me overcome obstacles. I read President Obama’s Dreams from My Father, and although I sometimes criticize him, I believe his election made racism a thing of the past. Reading taught me when one is prepared and knowledgeable, opportunities await you. Even a racist will pay top dollar for
a learned man. The only thing people care about is winners and achievement. I don’t play the race card because I am confident in my God-given talent. Whenever, I get bitter I read the story of Joseph. He was thrown into a well, but used misfortune as an opportunity and became a king. I no longer read books on black liberation, nationalism, or Marxism, which I believe create the seeds of victimization. If it isn’t uplifting, I refuse to read it. I read books I call profiles in personal responsibility. My favorite books are books of strong black men and women who resisted government assistance and looked to their God-given talents. My favorite book is Malcolm X’s autobiography; however, I get inspiration from Booker T. Washington’s Up From Slavery and W.E.B. Dubious’ Roots from my Soul. Ben Carson’s Gifted Hands is another
classic. He tells the story of being born to a single mother who refused welfare and went to work for rich people. She studied their ways and made her son read books and write reports on them. Because of his mother, Carson became one of the world’s top neurosurgeons. Although I’m politically independent, I love reading black conservatives such as Thomas Sowell, Armstrong Williams and
Blues Alley
By Chris “The Cowboy Poet” Shaw, Vendor I can barely recall the first time I crossed the storied threshold of the old brick carriage house, back at the foot of Wisconsin Avenue in Georgetown known as Blues Alley. But I do visualize clearly a noontime rendezvous in the darkened club, and meekly asking if I could speak a moment with Mister Willie. This would have been the winter of 1969. I had run away from home, and was feeling my precarious freedom by exploring places my parents probably wouldn’t approve me poking around. “Mister Willie” was the one and only Willie ‘The Lion’ Smith; one of the last working “Stride” pianists of the lost Harlem Renaissance. The rotund gentleman appeared, and when I stuttered out that “I p-play the p-piano in Stride style,” he laughed and grasped my hands. His were plump, and the skin on them felt as smooth as chamois leather. Memory dims here, but I believe I stumbled through an etude of “Kitchen Tom” by Eubie Blake, and then the master himself flew up and down the keys in a private recital far more meaningful to this witness than any paid show the ‘swells’ might experience later that night. In any case, the day manager caught sight of my frayed blue jeans and said I wouldn’t be welcomed back. With the passing of time, I can reflect on the keyhole listenin I endured, not being able to pay the cover for an amazing Tower of Power show in 1989; the swelling of pride I felt when Buddy Guy comped me a barstool-eye view in 1990; the thrill of ringside views of Billy Eckstine and later Junior Walker at about that same time. (Who accompanied me was not that important; what WAS was the great blues!) By 2002, I had a pretty solid Blues band with a historic bent, “Blues Museum,” and we got to grace the lofty Blues Alley stage three years straight. Since I have formed my New Orleans group ETUFE, my partner and I have been warmly welcomed backstage by Doctor John, Allen Toussaint, and the late Honeyboy Edwards and Hubert Sumlin! Now that even the non-historic live venue where my interim combo “The Unforgiven” played (with and without my participation for a decade) up M Street has been replaced by a men’s pants store, Earlier this year, DC City Council member Jack Evans introduced legislation aimed at helping preserve Blues Alley. I can only hope the powers that be of DC will be considerate enough of Blues Alley’s irreplaceable legacy (consider the club’s priceless Youth Orchestra and their extensive outreach to the philanthropic and educational community at large) to keep the “Alley” open for business well into the future!
Shelby Steele. I also love reading about strong women such as Condoleezza Rice and Star Parker. I am currently reading books on economics and poverty. But my real love is black history and the problems in the black community. In the future, I hope to share what I learned with my readers.
How Does Your Garden Grow? By Jane Goforth Volunteer That childhood verse came to mind when I first considered growing the garden. I was new to the settlement and one of the few not partnered. That had been my choice before I left because I did not want ties that would be difficult to break and I knew life here was going to be difficult enough. I also never seemed to have found the right person. I had been very busy with my work and that did not contribute to finding a partner. That was OK. When you come here it’s best you have as few attachments as possible. Once you settle here, you may even be encouraged to find a partner, but so far that has not happened to me. Getting here was difficult enough. The trip was long and accommodations were not four-star. You need time to recover and get settled. When you make a choice such as the one I did, it’s for the long term and part of a great adventure and a part of history. I serve at least two purposes in the settlement and indeed everyone in the settlement was chosen because of specific talents and abilities. Having multidegreed and talented persons cuts down on the number of people a colony will have to support and almost guarantees survival. My particular expertise will be as a member of a group of archeologists. Additionally, I will lend my time in the supply warehouse. I have been here almost three years now and am just feeling settled. Compared to the trip out, the living conditions are luxurious! Oh, by the way, this is a diary you are reading. We are required to keep these records for “the future.” Now, to get to what we found. What happened here was beyond unique. It changed so many conceptions and beliefs; it was jaw-dropping. (Once it was discovered that water would not be a problem, all the plans that had been made were amped up.) It took nearly 12 years for the first group to arrive and set up “housekeeping.” It was a small group and mostly volunteers. I was with the second group and when I arrived I was surprised to see how the colony had grown and flourished. I was here almost six months before I was allowed into the main excavation site. It was gridded off and ready for us to take over, relieving the first team. It was worth the wait. After our shift, we were so excited over the find that we had to be forcibly dragged off. We were willing to work 24/7 at this! But that was not permitted because we were working under such harsh conditions. Even so, the discoveries came so fast that cataloging them required three
people at a time. We thought we found a museum. That is the only way to explain the quantity, quality and variety of the artifacts. The atmosphere had contributed to the preservation of the site. It has become obvious to me now that a lifetime here is not going to be enough. I cannot leave even in the near future, especially since this last discovery. In our zeal and following a particularly interesting tunnel marking, we accidentally moved away from the strict perimeter and into a small section, not yet marked for exploration. It became one of those lucky accidents that lead to great discoveries. We had a bit of a scare when the ground and supports gave way and several of us fell into a pit. No one was seriously hurt and we laughed at our clumsiness, as we fell over and over, on top of one another. But then we saw the new tunnel and noticed how much thicker the walls were and tiled!!! Whoops went up and then silence, lest we bring the whole complex down on top of us! From what we could see of the tiles, and it wasn’t much, they were painted or stained a pale pink with red streaks and with other colors mixed in. The reason for the reddish colors would become obvious later after we figured out more. We w e r e too excited and ramped up to think of “hows” and “whys” then. While down in this pit we began to move around slowly and cautiously.
We discovered that the walls were thick here and a second wall, some feet beyond that first one, we later discovered was part of an outer one. We thought “fortress” but
that did not seem to fit with the objects we found, at least so far. We were further impressed by what we thought were paintings in frames! But this find would have to wait. We were in dangerous surroundings and thought it better not to track too far away from already inspected and secured areas. After this area was inspected and secured about a week later, we were allowed back. More areas had been opened and the new find was extraordinary! We believed we had discovered a homestead. We think it was a dwelling, about 1,000 to 2,000 square feet. There were multiple rooms and a common area. Usually sites of this size and complexity indicate a level of wealth. Another find was what we believed to be a log or diary. It was written on gold sheets and secured in a gold cover. This was meant to be found! I had to make a strong effort to slow down my heartbeat; it pounded so hard in my ears! The more we explored the more the artifacts astounded us. The complex had levels and led to rooms with different types of artifacts leading to a suspicion that this part was a display area. We found more diaries and one was the most significant of all our discoveries because it allowed us to put this site into complete understanding. What was found was a dictionary with symbols, letters, numbers – math, the universal language! This w a s a “ Ro setta Stone” for the ages! I was rooting around one particular area of the dwelling and found what looked like a child’s reader. Remember when I mentioned a garden? That’s where I would like to shift the
focus of this narrative. We figured out that the book I found was indeed a child’s book, a diary of sorts. The author started out by announcing that she knew her world was dying. A natural disaster of some sort had ravaged this once “garden of Eden-type planet.” But she was determined to stop the dying and plant her garden. She was going to make things grow again. As we learned more, we became aware that this was going to be impossible. She would not have the time and the conditions were not feasible. The planet was in its death throes. Later we found the spaceport and the ships that were left behind. By the size and number of spaces left open we know that probably hundreds or thousands were able to leave but millions more had to know that there was no way they would be following them. With the atmosphere bleeding into space and no way to stop it, saving anything was not an option. The little girl’s diary noted that she continued to use what spare resources she could find to try and make her garden grow. But the forces of nature were literally against her. Life-supporting systems were non-existent. In time the plants died, the people perished and then the planet itself became a desolate red ball. The last entry in her diary went something like this: “Well, my darling, how does your garden grow today?” I start my garden tomorrow and soon we will make this planet live again. It’s the neighborly thing to do for that big red giant we have been staring at for centuries. Oh, her drawings were interesting… they resembled us…maybe they made it to Earth. It seems the only logical destination for survival.
ISOTOPIA
STREET SENSE July 17 - 30, 2013
PART Eleve n
Ibn Hipps, Vendor After work, and after the meeting with the Circle, Josh hops in his 280 XZ to head home. Just then, his phone rings. **RING, RING, RING*** “Hello, this is Josh.” “Daddy, this is Susan, I am here with the rest of the kids,” she says, “I’m calling because all the kids in school are acting very weird.” Josh replies, “What?! Weird like how, Susan?” “Like how honey - talk to me!” yells Josh. “Dad, calm down!” yells Susan. “The whole school, and the teachers. They’re all just standing there, facing the east, murmuring. The pupils of their eyes are white-pearl white. They just keep chanting ‘peace for all’!’” “Tell your brother and sister I’m on my way - now, right now!” yells Josh. “Stay there and I’ll call your mother.” “She already knows,” says Susan. “Okay honey - I’m on my way,” Josh replies. Josh pushes his 280 XZ to the metal, phoning the Secret Circle of Love to let them know that it has started: the world cleansing of the heart and soul, the beginning of peace. ***RING, RING, RING*** “Yes,” answered the master sergeant.
“Thank the one God you answered the phone Uncle,” replies Josh. “What’s up?” asks his uncle. “It has started,” replies Josh. “What, already?!” exclaims his uncle, and hangs up the phone. Josh’s uncle must know what he is thinking. Josh pulls up at the kids’ school, chanting prayers of protection for himself and the kids, from the contamination of the evil of Isotopia. As he chants, Josh can feel the power working through his soul. The parking lot is like a ghost town, no one in sight. Josh jumps out of the car and runs to the entrance of the school. He can hear the murmurs of ‘peace for all’ coming from the kids inside. Josh enters the school, he knows that his kids are safe and brave, armed with the prayers and chants they were taught. Susan and her siblings were murmuring their own prayers and chants they learned from Moms. He runs down the hallway, following the chanting sounds. “Here we go again, following wierd sounds,” Josh thinks to himself. As he runs up to the kids, their backs face the blackboard. Susan and her siblings look up to realize their father is there to help them. From what Josh could see, they were just fine. The rest of the school is in a blind trance, facing eastward and chanting words unknown to Josh.
Susan, Sharon, Michael, Joseph and Dean all look to Josh and say, “It must be the kid - Meliki!” Josh and the kids run past classroom after classroom of kids and teachers chanting, headed for the car. Josh knows something weird is going on, this wasn’t supposed to happen yet. “Too soon,” Josh says to himself. Meliki is only 7. This wasn’t supposed to happen yet. The kids are all carrying on with excitement, ready for war - like their daddy, Josh. They know that sticking together is the key to survival. One God in us equals one family, unity, one love. So many bad things have happened in Isotopia. The kids are all mentally connected to Meliki. Josh promises himself, “I will not question the powers of the One God or the blessings he sends.” He contemplates the power of Meliki: it’s crazy that a 7-yearold child can control the minds of the entire city of Isotopia. “That’s the power of the One God himself,” Josh says as they drive on. The world is cleansing their sins: hurt, pain, bad memories - gone, erased, everything! All over the world, every school, every neighborhood, the whole city of Isotopia in a peaceful trance. Next: the final chapter.
The Mysterious Masonic Ring By John “Mick” Matthews, Vendor
Chapter 5: Walk Softly While Visiting a Big Stick
Kittie and I slept in the next morning. Years of being awakened at 5:30 a.m. by Homeless-I mean Homeland-Security, had taken its toll on us both. It felt great to sleep in until 10:30. While she took a shower, I hiked a few blocks up New York Avenue to McDonald’s, to grab breakfast and more importantly, coffee. I dropped by the motel lobby to pay for an extension on our room. I noticed a rack along the wall behind me, full of brochures about restaurants and tourist attractions in the District and its suburbs. I grabbed a Park Service brochure about the Washington Monument and headed back to our room. Kittie was getting dressed as I slid the keycard through the lock. Since she was out of the bathroom, I put breakfast and the brochure on the bed, and took the opportunity to hop in the shower. The coffee, alas, did not survive the trip back, but my caffeine addiction was sated. The warm water felt good against my bare skin in the shower. Just as I was reaching for the soap, I heard the bathroom door open. I stuck my head out to see Kittie flipping through the brochure.
She waltzed right over to the toilet and plopped down to do her business. I don’t think she ever learned the meaning of the word “modesty,” go figure. “Hey Bill, get this,” she chimed, pausing to light a cigarette, “did you know that the Washington Monument was supposed to be a statue of a horse?” “Really?” I replied, “Didn’t that wind up at Washington Circle, a couple blocks from Miriam’s?” “Probably, there are so many statues in this town, who can keep track?” she answered. “Turns out before it was built, Congress was wowed by the designs of some guy named Robert Mills, especially after he designed a column in Baltimore dedicated to George.” “Congress waffling on an issue, who’da thunk it?” I quipped, scrubbing soap on my skin. “Yeah, well, get this,” she continued, “Mills’ original plans included a circular mausoleum at the base of the monument. I think they were gonna dig George up and rebury him there.” “Considering they all but made him a demigod, it wouldn’t surprise me,” I said.
“What made them come to their senses?” “Same thing that makes anyone do anything in this town,” she responded, “money, or in this case, the lack of it.” “Guess budget cuts dug deep even back then,” I mused. “Yeah, guess so,” she shrugged. “Get this, on Pierre L’Enfant’s original plan for the city, the monument was supposed to be 350 feet northwest of where it is now.” “Why the change?” I asked, rinsing the soap off of me. “You know how you’re always talking about how this city was built over a swamp? Turns out the ground at the planned site couldn’t support the weight of a marker Thomas Jefferson placed there during his presidency, much less the monument itself,” she answered. “Here take this.” Her hand thrust into the shower, holding half of a still-lit cigarette. I grabbed it with one hand, turning off the water with the other. I took a couple of drags from it, waiting for her to finish so I could dry off. The flush of the toilet then told me my wait was over. (to be continued)
11 33
Fiction
Gayle arrives inPart LA4 By Gwynette Smith, Vendor Last time: Gayle Tyler is a young lawyer who recently the Office of Legal Aid in LA. She successfully defended a 14-year old boy. But then, he barged into her office, left a gun with her and said that it had been used to kill cops. Gayle was scared, never having been in a situation like this before. She and some friends have gone for a nighttime cruise on the Queen Mary. Gayle had on long, black gloves and carried an evening bag that had a long, black silk scarf inside. The ship was plush. Lots of velvet and round couches. There were picture frame moldings with pictures from when the ship was a seagoing vessel. The carpeting was thick and there were chair rail moldings throughout the ship. The women were seated. Gayle then excused herself to the ladies room. Leaving the restroom, she went out on the deck to get some air. A man dressed like a navy officer directed Gayle to the deck. Gayle scouted the area and found a relatively dim, secluded spot. If she handled things just right, people on either side of her wouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. She stood near the railing. Gayle put a gloved hand out over the water to feel the breeze. She looked in her handbag and softly said, “Where’s my lighter?” She reached in her bag, felt the black silk and gathered the gun’s magazine with it. She moved one of her gloved hands over the water and let the scarf play in the breeze as she lowered the magazine into the dark waters. Then, gathering her scarf, she continued to let it play in the breeze. Gayle put the scarf in her handbag and pretended to look for her lighter as she gathered the gun into the scarf. She had rehearsed this scene a thousand times in her mind. Slowly, she did the same to dispose of the gun, then tied the scarf around her neck. Relieved, she smoked a cigarette, putting it out on the deck floor as she walked inside. She returned laughing, hoping that there might be some good guys to meet and good burgundy to drink. She vowed from that point on she would be more distant and professional with her clients but would bond with her co-workers more.
Comics & Games
Electric Cars
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ch ...in chur
Street Electric Cars
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Being Homeless in the Summer
COMMUNITY SERVICES
Jacqueline Turner Vendor There are all kinds of people in this world. By the same token, there are a variety of homeless people. I know the summertime brings nice weather. People become more relaxed. They are able to stretch out in the park and not be uncomfortable. When you look around, you see flowers, trees, greenery. That tends to put you in a good mood. The beauty has a calming effect. Tourists come from all over the world, more than they do in the cold weather, because they can walk in comfort. The more people, the better chance you are to get some help. More to share. It is however, also an open season for crime. When people are hot and poor and cannot cool off, they sometimes become desperate. The hotter it gets, the more people you see drinking and bugging out
Academy of Hope: 269-6623 601 Edgewood St, NE aohdc.org
Community of Hope: 232-7356 communityofhopedc.org
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STREET SENSE July 17 - 30, 2013
Housing/Shelter
Clothing
Outreach
Transportation
Education
Legal Assistance
Food
Showers
Medical/Healthcare
Laundry
Employment Assistance Department of Mental Health Access Hotline 1-888-7WE HELP (1-888-793-4357)
Shelter Hotline: 1–800–535–7252 Martha’s Table: 328-6608 2114 14th St, NW marthastable.org
Thrive DC: 737-9311 1525 Newton St, NW thrivedc.org
Covenant House Washington: 610-9600 2001 Mississippi Avenue, SE covenanthousedc.org
Miriam’s Kitchen: 452-8926 2401 Virginia Ave, NW miriamskitchen.org
Unity Health Care: 745-4300 3020 14th St, NW unityhealthcare.org
Calvary Women’s Services: 678-2341 1217 Good Hope Road, SE calvaryservices.org
D.C. Coalition for the Homeless: 347-8870 1234 Massachusetts Ave, NW dccfh.org
My Sister’s Place: 529-5991 (24-hour hotline) mysistersplacedc.org
The Welcome Table: 347-2635 1317 G St, NW epiphanydc.org/thewelcometable
Catholic Charities: 772-4300 catholiccharitiesdc.org/gethelp
Father McKenna Center: 842-1112 19 Eye St, NW fathermckennacenter.org
N Street Village: 939-2060 1333 N Street, NW nstreetvillage.org
Whitman-Walker Health 1701 14th St, NW | 745-7000 2301 MLK Jr. Ave, SE | 797-3567 whitman-walker.org
Bread for the City: 265-2400 (NW) | 561-8587 (SE) 1525 7th St, NW | 1640 Good Hope Rd, SE breadforthecity.org
Central Union Mission 745-7118 1350 R Street, NW missiondc.org
Charlie’s Place: 232-3066 1830 Connecticut Ave, NW charliesplacedc.org Christ House: 328-1100 1717 Columbia Rd, NW christhouse.org Church of the Pilgrims: 387-6612 2201 P St, NW churchofthepilgrims.org/outreach food (1 - 1:30 on Sundays only)
Community Council for the Homeless at Friendship Place: 364-1419 4713 Wisconsin Ave, NW cchfp.org Community Family Life Services: 347-0511 305 E St, NW cflsdc.org
Food and Friends: 269-2277 219 Riggs Rd, NE foodandfriends.org (home delivery for those suffering from HIV, cancer, etc)
Foundry Methodist Church: 332-4010 1500 16th St, NW foundryumc.org/ministry-opportunities ID (FRIDAY 9-12 ONLY)
Georgetown Ministry Center: 338-8301 1041 Wisconsin Ave, NW georgetownministrycenter.org Gospel Rescue Ministries: 842-1731 810 5th St, NW grm.org
Jobs Have Priority: 544-9128 425 Snd St, NW jobshavepriority.org John Young Center: 639-8569 119 D Street, NW
New York Ave Shelter: 832-2359 1355-57 New York Ave, NE Open Door Shelter: 639-8093 425 2nd St, NW newhopeministriesdc.org/id3.html
Rachel’s Women’s Center: 682-1005 1222 11th St, NW rachaels.org
Samaritan Inns: 667-8831 2523 14th St, NW samaritaninns.org Sasha Bruce Youthwork: 675-9340 741 8th St, SE sashabruce.org
Subscribe to Street Sense 1 Year: $40 2 Years: $80 3 Years: $120 I want half of my purchase to benefit a vendor directly Vendor Name Vendor Badge # Name
So Others Might Eat (SOME) 797-8806 71 O St, NW some.org
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Vendor Profile: Carlton “InkFlow” Johnson By Kristen Farnam, Editorial Intern
Street Sense Vendor Carlton Johnson compares the course of his life to a rollercoaster ride. His journey has had its ups and downs, for sure. But talking with Johnson you clearly get the feeling that in spite of some tough times, he has found joy and pleasure along the way. When Johnson, a native Washingtonian, found himself homeless a few years ago, he faced a weekly struggle to earn enough to stay in a low-priced hotel. He discovered Street Sense when another vendor told him about it. He looked at the newspaper and liked what he saw. Soon, Johnson became a Street Sense vendor himself, and a contributing writer for the paper as well. Since 2008, Johnson has regularly published his poetry in Street Sense and has done other writing for the paper too. When President Barack Obama was elected for his first term as president, Johnson was part of a team of reporters who covered the inaugural celebration. Johnson’s poetry has also been published by Poetry.com. From these submissions he has garnered additional recognition as an up-and-coming poet. When asked about the poets who inspire him, Johnson names Langston Hughes and Nikki Giovanni. He says he also enjoys some of Edgar Allan Poe’s work, although he believes Poe is “a little on the insane side.” He says he is unable to choose a favorite among his own poems, instead declar-
ing all of his poems to be his favorites. Yet at the same time, he pulls a copy of a back issue out of his backpack and offers this stanza from a recent poem: “Keys used to unlock the mind, hearts, ‘passions of one’s soul’ Colorful possibilities, manipulated psalms of realities, motivating powerful concepts rooted deeply interlocked insights. Illuminated synergy, illusive passions, stimulated metaphors within realms of profound wordplay, consciousness, ‘passions of one’s soul.’” Of his poetry he says this: “It’s my artwork. All of my poetry has something to do with my life and my experiences.” When asked about his particular style or approach to writing, Johnson says his Street Sense byline, Inkflow sums it up. “It’s the free flow of the Inkflow,” says Johnson with a laugh. Johnson, who is now 51 and living in an apartment with his father, currently holds a couple of jobs.He does freelance work for an electrician and also serves as a communications technician at Adam’s Center Shelter. Although these jobs are helping him to make ends meet, he says he still enjoys selling Street Sense. And he always makes sure to find time to nurture his poetry. He is currently compiling a book of his poems and dreams of seeing it published. He envisions a volume of 30 of his best verses that will leave readers “hungry for more.”
Rashawn Bowser - 7/9 Jacqueline Turner - 7/28 July 17 - 30, 2013 • Volume 10 • Issue 18
Street Sense 1317 G Street, NW
Nonprofit Org US Postage Paid Washington, DC
Washington, DC 20005
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Timeless Engravings
By Carlton “Inkflow” Johnson, Vendor Daydreams rapidly turning thoughts of your smiling face symbolizing sophistication, that no other could live up to brings me joy throughout my days... Bewildered by excitement dignify by delightful ageless bittersweet memories timeless engravings... Flashing dream like pictures playing over and over, trapped timeless timelines in the back of my mind, entangled the fondest deeply-rooted treasured memories interlocked moments passage of time affectionate engravings on my heart and soul... Tenderhearted moments balanced stability joyfulness, engravings giving mass to elevated emotional events, thoughts and storylines... Unexplainable treasured experiences deeply engraved viewpoints, bent realms of reality embedded literally on my mind... The untold building blocks of affectionate soulful timeless engravings, pillars in which countless expression heartfelt ageless bittersweet memories coming together to honor your memory within my heart and soul...
The Treasure of DC and the Metropolitan Area By Samuel Fullwood, Vendor
There are similar papers in other areas and countries, but none like ours. Vendors of different cultures, religions and nationalities; the poor, homeless, professionals, scholars and volunteers working together in a city where political decisions that affect this planet are put on the board or started. Papers of the world report events that have a mostly political agenda. Elected officials, fighting among each other. Stealing, taking bribes and making deals to get votes to fund their (pet) projects that have no long-term goals, but take attention away from their hidden agendas. It can be easy to overlook the reality of everyday happiness, everyday struggles. People who fall from the grace of society, written off. We are the ones that the programs are supposed to help. Serious problems faced daily, by people who work and residents who call this city home. Change is good, but not at the expense of the people who are left behind. In order to grow, we must grow together, as proven in ancient times. A saying among Marines, for decades: leave no one behind. We are the ones who write about the fall and rise, sadness and happiness, express-
ing emotions, showing grit. Seeing life that, while growing up, never existed as it does today in our minds as a happy adventure. We are Street Sense. There is a small percentage who feel and understand. They give 100 percent from their selves and their hearts. From me, to you, I send my respect, gratefulness and love. Street SenseVendors: S-easoned T-ake-back R-eporting E-xperiencing E-xamples T-alented Staff: S-uper E-nergizers N-eutral S-killed E-ducated This is seen through my eyes only--the joy, support and confidence that Street Sense vendors, staff, volunteers and people of support contribute to me, making them all, a branch on my tree of life. God bless. Love, Samuel Fullwood (Vendor #459)
Thomas Maslin
By Phillip “The Cat in the Hat” Black, Vendor
Permit #568
Remember, buy only from badged vendors and do not give to those panhandling with one paper.
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Thomas Maslin was more than a customer, when he bought my Street Sense paper at Eastern Market. He became my friend. He has a wife named Abigail, and a two-year-old son named Jack. I pray for the Maslin family everyday. Last August, after attending a Washington Nationals game, and leaving a restaurant, Thomas Maslin was hit in the head with a an aluminum bat and robbed of his keys, iPhone, and bank card. For days, he stayed in a coma, and had to have several brain surgeries. He will never be the same person again who I met at Eastern Market. On
July 2nd, twenty three year old Tommy Branch was sentenced to 28 years in prison for what he did to my friend. Another man, 18-year-old Michael Moore pleaded guilty of taking part in the attack and a third, Sunny Kuti, 17, is awaiting trial. I’ve meet so many good people at Eastern Market, and downtown at 11th and F St. NW. Mr. Maslin’s neurosurgeon said that Mr. Maslin will never fully recover. I’m just so happy that justice is being served. My hearts and prayers will always go out to Thomas Maslin, and his family.