Extraordinary encounter this morning with “Mama” Gloria Kim of the Zion Gospel Mission, who we first saw praying from a mountaintop in Griffith Park, facing the Pacific Ocean. Squeezing my arm as I escorted the 70+ year old former nurse down the steep trails of Mt. Hollywood (after she conceded that her legs aren’t as steady as they once were), I learned that she has been delivering fresh vegetable soup and other foodstuffs to the homeless in MacArthur Park for the past 27 years. Reaching the bottom, she held our hands up for an extended prayer in the Observatory parking lot, then climbed into her van (loaded with bagels and bananas) for today’s mission work. I hope to see her again….
Linda’s art making continues, despite having had most of her artworks trashed during a series of clean-ups by the city
Necessity dictated that Gracie would have to panhandle to eat, so out she went to the ramp, damn it all…
The winter storms of 2017 have been a blessing for California, a succession of cold and heavy rains finally breaking the grip of several years of drought-like conditions. We can relax a bit, knowing there will no longer be a need to closely monitor our lawn-watering quotients and other givens, at least for the time being. On the other hand, those unlucky enough to be living outdoors are that much more uncomfortable and disadvantaged. So we find the fraternity of 405/Nordhoff, right back where they were swept up from and jailed less than a month earlier, but now banned from at least taking refuge under the expansive, concrete freeway bridge. “Where else are we supposed to go?” Linda asks with exasperation. The group is holding it together through ingenuity, teamwork (yes), and the resolve to endure. To think of them by this time as anything less than a family is unfair.
Craig, Terry and Amy, lacking tents or even the materials to put up structures as sound as Linda and Gracie right now, spent the night under a narrow awning against the windows of the businesses that share the space with 7-11. The owner of the Thai restaurant was good enough not to be any more direct than was warranted when telling them it was time to open soon and they would have to remove their possessions– which included bikes and shopping carts– from the vicinity. So it was done with the help of Manny Flores of the local North Valley Caring Services, who arrived with red backpacks stuffed with tarps, food and plenty of warm winter wear.
Craig, always the most demonstrative, was profuse in his thanks for a new winter coat, a big improvement over the jacket which had left him, in Terry’s words, “shaking like a wet mouse… without teeth.” He said it with a smile and a cuff on the shoulder, everyone feeling a bit better banding together holding hot coffee. Craig gets good-natured ribbings like this from the others at times, like the brother who is not above being teased. Manny called a contact he had at the Mission Hills Police to see if the ban on sleeping under the bridge could be relaxed until the rains passed. He reported that yes, he had been told that officers would not press the matter. Everyone seemed skeptical, with Craig relating loudly that Officer Diaz had been emphatic that there were no ifs, ands or buts about it. Everyone seems to believe that it is just this particular bridge that is off-limits, though no one wants to relocate to the Plummer underpass a half-mile north, where there are no freeway ramps and anyway it’s a huge ordeal to move that far, especially in this weather.
The recent incarcerations weigh heavily on the group, and Linda, living almost snugly now after combatting leakages all night, was content to stay put. She and Gracie both have small candles burning in their tarp-roofed abodes. They were both indoors this morning as the latest torrents beat down; Linda contentedly back at work painting small objects with glittery nail polish, pleased with a news shade of green Gracie recently brought her. Gracie herself was more restive, managing to put on a welcoming, friendly face for me when I stuck my head in. Noticeably feeling the weather, she told me she had been in custody for an entire week, due to what she alluded might have been a harsher judgment than some others received … Meanwhile Mike, under the awning with the other guys, vented boldly that he would like nothing more than to take a swing at the officer who had locked him up.
A more thorough report would provide the reader with details of the health conditions of this group. Though much younger than either Linda or Gracie, Amy’s situation is the most dire at the moment. She had taken shelter inside Jack-in-the-Box this morning, suffering from the flu and now, according to Terry, determined to kick her habit. A lot of negative influence and peer pressure from others in their realm will continue to make that a difficult proposition, Terry knows.
In their own words, members of the homeless community of the San Fernando Valley of Los Angeles tell a little about their lives, and share their thoughts about the status and stigma associated with being stuck on the bottom rung, economically speaking, of our society … each portrait in this gallery features a link to an audio recording.
Much of society ends up treating the marginalized outdoor people differently in ways that are, intentionally or not, dehumanizing and
sometimes even darkly comical. Our culture dictates that there can not be enough collective will and inspiration to find solutions that outweigh the costs; how can the average citizen, not to mention those who live tangled in safety nets, be expected to understand the intractable economic inequalities and social injustices this breeds?
Most self-respecting homeless folks in the San Fernando Valley know about the generous feasts offered at St. Nicholas Episcopal Church in Encino. Photography is not allowed at the Tuesday night dinners, I learned from a tall, deep-voiced
gentleman who sidled over to me with the muted warning. Minutes later a young,
fit man with slicked black hair, matching black clothes and a plastic-coated identification badge pinned to his pocket approached me with the demeanor of a no-nonsense bodyguard. Without a greeting, I was told to delete
whatever photographs I had taken. With some impatience he immediately offered
to delete them himself. Instead, like an idiot photographer I told him I knew
how to operate my equipment, and showed him the few randomly composed
snapshots I had taken of the crowded room. He was about to repeat his order
when I told him why I was there. His tune changed quickly upon learning that I
had come mainly to introduce myself to the pastor and learn about the dinners. He seemed as skeptical as he was apologetic when telling me
that he had thought I was one of the “clients.” I imagine he had been watching me
mill around the crowded dining room, chatting, maybe acting a bit too
comfortable. When, as sometimes happens, I’ve been mistaken for a member of the homeless community, I find it disconcertingly humanizing. Orders to delete my photographs ceased.
Attention turned to Shane, in his 40′s a playful, lunkish Bill Murray kind of guy I met at a community breakfast at the North Valley Caring Services months earlier. We had a
jolly reunion under the circumstances, until cold water was thrown on it when Shane himself was admonished, even though this was several minutes since he had used his own cellphone camera to make a selfie
of us. The friendly Polish-American with the bull neck and shoulders didn’t
take kindly to what seemed at the
moment an unnecessarily strict rule. He snapped back, keeping himself in check though fuming, and for a moment could not be
placated. “It’s OK,” I offered to the guard in our mutual confusion, “he’s my
friend.” As though my credibility overrode Shane’s violation of the no-photography rule.
The guard, or whatever his official role is, was only reacting to the stresses that come with experience and knowing that Shane was just one of many in the room of 200+ experiencing emotional trauma and other issues, some bubbling under the surface, some on
full display. The room was loud, conversations flowing freely, as men and women enjoyed a warm meal and a few hours indoors. Keeping the lid on is likely part of the job
description, resulting in the occasional heavy-handed rebuke or warning … One can begin to understand why such a large percentage of homeless people prefer life outdoors to shelter systems and other institutional oversights. I compartmentalize the sadness of remembering Nancy, who when returning to meet us at a church breakfast where we were working on portraits and interviews last summer, met a harsh rebuke. Entering a side hall from the dining area, the aging, still proud southern former debutante was humiliated after being scolded for entering a section of the building that was off-limits. Weeping, she complained about being treated like “retarded kindergartners.” Goes with the territory sometimes, to be filed under tough love.
In an effort to mollify Shane and diffuse the situation, our guard leant in and apologized. Like a finger snap Shane was on his feet going for a hug. Life is better these days, he told me. Turns out he has found employment
again as a waiter, something he had talked about enthusiastically months earlier. He’s met Wayne Gretzky at his Malibu café, and later texted a
selfie he took with a game Cindy Crawford. Still homeless.
“Most addicts will have similar stories – they are victims of rape, child abuse, and all manner of horrors. Many lack even the barest chance to get help, or any kind of family. I think what many fail to realise is that every man and woman has a breaking point. I’m no longer homeless, yet to this day it upsets me to see people ignore the homeless rather than give them money ‘to spend on drugs.’ If you’re going to be generous, if you’re that lucky to be able to do so, then do it without moral judgement. Those who use drugs will stop when they are able to, not when they run out of money.”
* John Doe, from an article in The Guardian
Update (Jan. 10-11) A chance meeting with Rachel and Rebecca on Sepulveda Boulevard provided some insight into what transpired back on December 30, and the fate of some of the principles…. it appears that the proverbial last straw was not a wheelchair-bound man’s tumble off the curb, but an incident in which one of the heroin users in the vicinity was found lounging in a folding chair on the makeshift patio her group had constructed on the southbound onramp, nodding out with a needle sticking out of her arm. Just then, if the story is to be believed, the local politician and their arch nemesis (and this is odd– everybody has stories about this man but none know his name or actual title)– happened by with a Caltrans worker. He allegedly vowed then and there to clean up the area once and for all. He had been raging and blustering threats to the campers for a long time, even, I was told by a Caltrans supervisor, considering having the homeless sprayed with a high-powered hose. So the signs that went up in early December, which were followed by the issuing of tickets, turned out to be not a bluff but a definitive strategy for clearing the area. Craig, at least from a pragmatic standpoint seemed impressed. “He said he was going to do it, and wow, he really did it!” What, how and with whom exactly our mystery protagonist did it with remains unclear, and could be the subject of some real investigative journalism, if such a thing still exists at the local level.
Contradicting what I overheard one officer explain on the day of the eviction, that if they had followed the law closer and not blocked the sidewalks during the daytime, they might have stayed, within the strictures of the existing and inconsistently enforced laws regarding camping on city property, authorities recently nipped in the bud any thoughts of re-establishing the camp, naysaying two small domiciles that had already sprung up on the sidewalk under the bridge again. One might have been Gracie’s, and the other one was Craig’s, identifiable by the large propane tank he insists on keeping for warmth, even though he has set a few accidental fires with it already, burning his own legs and hands in the process. Fireballs have been seen rising from his quarters, miniature mushroom clouds, Rebecca recalled with some alarm.
The words “no loitering” and “no soliciting” on “the entire block” on the signs planted with jackhammers in the sidewalks on both sides of the street indicate to Craig that the actual letter of the law (which allows citizens to sleep on city property between 9pm and 6am) no longer applies to bridges in general, or maybe just this city block under this this particular bridge. Still, just as plants sprout from the cracks, they are here. Craig, Mike and Terry are working the ramps again, while Amy reportedly just got out, Rebecca explained, because she had threatened suicide upon incarceration, but was inexplicably not sent for evaluation until after she was released from her cell several days later. Craig tells me that the two folks I had encountered scavenging under the bridge in the aftermath of the crackdown were wanted by the law, homeless grifters at least. They cannot be trusted at all, the word is out; in this subterranean world, there is a code of ethics, honor in poverty, even among thieves if survival dictates.
These days Gracie and Craig are waxing philosophically about their predicament. Craig has helped his friend and ally realize and accept that the way their presence affects property values and such makes their claims that this is “their turf” moot. Powerless they may be, but cleverness, luck, stoic determination and whatever lubricants can oil the joints between these variants are the currency. In the cold late afternoon gloom of this remarkable winter, unconcerned that President Obama would in a short time make his farewell address to the nation from Chicago, Craig boasted that he never got the stay-away order the others received, and is free to eke out his living and feed his habit with some sense of security. I ran into him just two days after seeing him in handcuffs, when he was the first one back on location. He explained how he parlayed a severe heroin withdrawal into an early, unconditional release. Showing a “get out of jail” card he was given by a police officer (really a standard-issue business card), he explained how he has been befriended and somewhat buttressed psychologically by the police, asked to at least help keep an eye out for the grifters, (still in the vicinity and sneaking in a few ramp shifts now and then). Officer Diaz in particular, who heads the homeless task force in the area, has been supportive, compassionate and reasonable with him, and is willing to take an “out of sight out of mind approach” to his transience as long as he stays out from under the bridge, no ifs ands or buts, rain or shine. Get a tent, that’s advisable.
Sitting on a deflated rubber mattress along the fence on the wide expanse of concrete that borders the northbound ramp, he spoke frankly about his heroin addiction. Craig assured me that unlike others in the area he was not a “junkie,” that is to say not all-consumed by the narcotic. Still, his need for the drug and a general sense of independence makes him, like so many others, reluctant to surrender to the strict regulations of cold-weather shelters. He spoke without a trace of desperation, buoyed by comments made to him by officers and others. He is a capable person. There are some people who would like to see him rise up out of his predicament. He appreciates that his better angels, and his intellect and reasoning skills are recognized, and that he is not considered a hopeless case.
Scratching the surface is the layer of inquiry that still seems too much like voyeurism, not leading to any solutions quickly enough. The prospects seem glacial. Society definitely needs to put a higher premium on finding lasting solutions to poverty and neglect.
It was a harsh and dehumanizing end to the encampment, inevitable under the circumstances.
A garbled, hurried text message from Gracie, before she was put in handcuffs clutching only her phone and an avocado, informed me that the police were on site at the 405 & Nordhoff. Linda had already been taken away and others were also being detained while officers and Caltrans workers moved in to clear the area once and for all. That the bottom fell out of their tenuous little community settlement was not surprising. A miniature skid row had formed in the vacuum created by lack of cohesive and comprehensive policy. Proper intervention requires compassion for those members of the public often derided as bottom-feeders, and are in fact survivalists hindered by their own impoverishment, vices and bleak prospects. The sidewalks had become unbearably overcrowded and filthy, with trash piling up in bags and pooling up in loose piles against the walls. There were as many as 8-10 separate makeshift living quarters in use, and complaints from residents had increased. Students from nearby Monroe High School and other pedestrians were finding it increasingly difficult to pass. The tipping point, according to accounts from both the campers and the police I spoke to, occurred when a man in an electric wheelchair could not navigate past some of the temporary structures on the sidewalk under the freeway bridge, and toppled off the curb. (see update for clarification)
The good-natured twenty-something leader of the orange-clad Caltrans team (ten or so workers) told me that he had tried to warn everyone that “something big was coming,” and it was clear that he was taking no joy in this operation. It was true, the oddly contradictory Municipal Code 41.18 signs that had been planted on the sidewalks a few weeks earlier declaring “no loitering or solicitations,” and the tickets citing violations such as “illegal encampments” that had been written just days earlier were all a portent of doom for the squatters. Now Caltrans and city workers ripped apart the tents and other makeshift shelters, exposing a hoarder’s bounty of all manner of personal possessions, some essential, many not.
Terry and Amy were handcuffed, standing fifteen feet apart against the wall under the bridge. Stressed out, they snapped at each other like the old married couple they have become. Amy, who had been on yet another drug-fueled downward spiral in recent weeks pleaded for matches or a lighter so she could have one last smoke before being loaded into the squad car. Sitting against the wall with her hands behind her, she asked me to take her Chihuahua so that it wouldn’t be confiscated. The police agreed I could save the dog, which I ended up leaving with Rachel and Rebecca, who had a pup of their own. The mother-daughter team had been living in the most expansive tent/compound, on state property (the northbound onramp). They were being allowed to hang onto most of their supplies, including their tent, having convinced the police that they were going to receive enough money later that day to afford a motel room. They didn’t get off completely unscathed though, as the usually good-mannered and thoughtful Rachel lost her cool when told she couldn’t salvage her dog’s bowl, and injured her foot kicking a post.
Across the street, Gracie, Craig and others were being sequestered along the freeway onramp. Those with previous warrants like Gracie (”misdemeanors”), along with Craig and another man named Mike were in handcuffs. Sixty-six-year-old Gracie’s hands were bound uncomfortably behind her back. Craig, apparently in the early stages of narcotic withdrawal, was completely despondent, wondering aloud what was going to happen now. After sitting slumped in a plastic chair for more than an hour, he told the officers he preferred to lay prostrate on the warm cement while waiting to be taken away. His posture led one officer to approach me and ask how my photographs would be used, well aware that images of a man laying on the ground, hands bound behind his back while officers hovered around, didn’t look very good from a public relations standpoint. I assured him that I would provide the proper context. Rebecca and the others sort of rolled their eyes, telling us that Craig, the former child actor, tended to be “dramatic” at times.
Still, it always pricks the conscience to see humans shackled…
I watched as Gracie, and later Craig, were escorted in cuffs to where their things were, as an officer asked them what was essential, sifting through the piles of clothing, foodstuffs and personal effects for the items, stuffing them into black plastic garbage bags. Everything that was not salvaged would be trashed. I managed to find one last piece of Linda’s fingernail polish-painted artwork and tucked in my back pocket …
The police were professional and patient, for the most part displaying at least a requisite amount of empathy, bound as they were by the statutes they are entrusted to uphold, and their own daily involvement with these situations. “We’re basically social workers with guns,” one young officer with a military background half-joked. He spent several minutes explaining all of the various programs available through the city’s new H.O.P.E (Homeless Outreach Pro-Active Engagement) program, revisiting the litany of reasons why many homeless don’t feel comfortable or even able to stay in shelters or seek other forms of assistance. Watching a young woman light another cigarette, he expressed quiet frustration at Emmy Lu’s refusal to accept an offer to move into a woman’s shelter, preferring instead, even in her seventh month of pregnancy, to live in the street and indulge in bad habits. She was hurriedly and tearfully trying to gather whatever belongings she could pull together before their domicile was destroyed. Mike, her child’s father, sat on the sidewalk across the street with his hands cuffed behind his back, taking everything in stride with disconcerting calm.
If anything this incident points to the serious need for consideration and thought on how to avoid these kinds of environments from being necessary at all…
I rode back to the site on my bike several hours later, in the late afternoon, and found Rebecca and Rachel still waiting on a corner with the possessions they were allowed to keep. By nightfall they would be in a motel room … Terry, Amy, Craig, Gracie, Linda and Mike were presumably in the Van Nuys jail. Another couple, who had been living under the bridge for the last month or so, (part of the influx of new campers that Gracie had warned was making the place too overcrowded and dirty), was sifting through the meager remains, debris that had been left behind, deemed to small to be swept into the trucks. The man told me that they had “ducked out” when the law enforcement first arrived that morning, and had waited until now to return, to see what if anything was left behind for them.
As his partner Debra poked through the detritus, someone yelled at her from across the street, warning her to “keep your hands off that, it doesn’t belong to you!” It was a pathetic scene, heavy with portent. I asked Debra where they would go now. She glanced around furtively, and told me that she didn’t feel safe going anywhere after this. They had been warned not to even panhandle on the ramps any more. (Note: in a later post it will come to light that this couple Jeff and Debra, are among the lesser-liked for reasons legal and otherwise). It seems that there has been a shift in policy, though what it is exactly is unclear. One hopeful thought to hold onto– one of the officers confided openly that he thought this should lead to a more cohesive squatting policy between city and state bodies.
Hard to believe that just a few weeks ago Gracie had stood in front of the North Hills East Neighborhood Council and tried to plead for understanding on just this issue. She specifically expressed the desire of the more responsible members of the Nordhoff group to keep the area clean and not be a nuisance to the community, which she said in her characteristically straightforward manner, “gives to us so generously.” Yet while she may have been listened to politely, nary a finger was raised on her behalf or on behalf of the others, and the alternative to her laying in the soot of traffic (lest we forget her respiratory health issues) turned out to be a jail cell. That we can’t do better than this for our most unfortunate citizens is just a low-down dirty shame …
Unusual for Southern California, winter came with cold, wet and windy weather. While several of the occupants of the 405/Nordhoff group were given holiday gifts of “Notice to Appear” tickets this past week, citing “illegal encampment,” the bad weather has actually earned them a reprieve from the impending evacuation of the area by law enforcement. It was supposed to have happened as early as yesterday.
Rachel, still holding out in a tent with her mother Rebecca on the corner of the Northbound freeway entrance, explained that LAMC 56.11 allows them to stay as long as there is rain and temperatures below 50 degrees. That might give them a few more days.
Meanwhile, Terry works the ramp, Craig compulsively sweeps the sidewalk, Amy and Shay discuss their dilemma while Linda sleeps off a very rough night under the bridge. Alcohol, pot, meth and heroin serve to keep these folks down while also anesthetizing them from the harshness and uncertainty of life….
Craig shares tips on how to create signs for working the ramp that will garner the most empathy from the public …
“It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that while there is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good humour.”
― Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol
The first day of winter, and for once Los Angeles feels like it … here is wishing that Isaac, Kim and their two hearty boys are no longer camping in a supermarket parking lot, and have found better shelter …
A breakfast program, started by Verna Porter in 1975, evolved to what we know as “North Valley Caring Services” today. Throughout the years, different programs have been created to provide services to homeless community and people in need. Programs such as breakfast, portable shower, haircut, bicycle and clothing have made big impacts on homeless people’s lives. In this series of photos, I focused on the services, provided in this center and people, who are involved with these services. People like Manny Flores, the community liaison, and Danny, coordinator of the breakfast program, who’re going beyond their responsibilities to make a change in the community. The services provided in this center are not limited to these. Thanksgiving lunch, annual memorial service or Christmas giveaway are some other events that attract a big number of people in need to this center.
Beside the regular services provided in the center, Manny reaches out to some homeless people or camps in the area to build the relationship with them and get them the help that they need. I accompanied Manny in his visits to 405 freeway off-ramp camp, Trails and abandoned Green Arrow, which has become a homeless camp. Our visit to these camps was full of sad, happy, hopeless and hopeful moments, from the stories of people under 405 freeway dealing with city and LAPD to China’s bike. These photos probably won’t change anything for these people, but this journey definitely changed my point of view on this issue.
Manny Flores and
Craig, October 26, 2016, 405 freeway off-ramp. Manny talks to Craig next to his encampment under the 405 freeway.
Craig, October 26, 2016, 405 freeway off-ramp. Craig holds the cereal bag, while chatting with Manny.
Manny Flores and Gracie, October 26, 2016, 405 freeway offramp. Manny talks to Gracie near her encampment under the 405 freeway.
Craig’s belongings, October 26, 2016, 405 freeway off-ramp. A sign, which reads “Homeless Please Help”, sitting on a box next to Craig’s tent.
Manny Flores and Stella, October 26, 2016,
North Valley Caring Services. Stella listens to Manny, talking about different types of homelessness.
Manny Flores, Trails camp, November 9, 2016. Manny walks with the bike through the Trails camp, on the freeway underpass, near the 405 Roscoe exit.
China, Trails Camp, November 9, 2016.
China, Trails Camp, November 9, 2016. China, ready to ride her new bike.
China and her homeboy, Trails camp, November 9, 2016. China poses with her homeboy on her new bike.
Trails camp, November 9, 2016. An old door is been used as a bridge.
On Broadway Street, the heart of old Los Angeles. We recognized each other, and Ivy was pleased to find that I remembered the rabbit she kept tucked in her shirt when we had crossed paths back in March. Her speech today was not quite as impaired by substance as it had been that day, and she related that Raymond Yellowhawk had died, and pointed out that in fact, his prosthetic leg was now on display on a shelf in the store across the street, the very store where they had been sitting on the sidewalk that day in March. There was a little more conversation about sleeping conditions, prison tattoos, and we waved goodbye…
“What I’m trying to describe is that it’s impossible to get out of your skin into somebody else’s…. That somebody else’s tragedy is not the same as your own.” ― Diane Arbus
Relating these encounters anecdotally risks contextualizing the lives of Ivy and others as just “stories” leaving one with the sinking feeling that they carry semiotic and emotive pinpricks to the conscience not unlike those in fairy tales, anthropology and possibly religion (sure to be a debatable point, that last one).
There are enough pictures already, enough tales of suffering and despair, so that long ago if they were to be effective enough to make a bigger difference, society would have had to have been thoroughly shamed into whatever means necessary. But no, so more photographs are on the way regardless; even while I struggle with my own concerns about exploiting the drama of their circumstances, I hope the public sees it not as decorative art or entertainment.
Text messages from Linda this morning: “We are in dire straits at the moment…. the city has posted permanent signs saying no loitering no soliciting no stopping … it basically gives the LAPD the authority to come in an wipe us out and arrest or ticket us.. and it could be anytime…. I’m trying to find a place for my blankets, clothes and my art, and me… they did this right before the holidays just to make sure we can’t get help … this gives them so much power over us and we have no rights … now I feel that talking to any of these so-called concerned citizens is a waste of time… we don’t count, they have all counted us out. Send THAT to the mayor!!!!!”
So it happened that Amy and Terry heard the jackhammers roar right outside their makeshift hovel on the sidewalk early this morning, as city workers erected a series of metal posts with signs, essentially laying the groundwork for what appears to be a move to sweep the underpass clean of everyone: Gracie, Linda, Craig, Rebecca and her daughter Rachel, and the others. With no alternatives offered, as the weather gets colder and windier and as the holidays approach, the frustration and anger of these people is understandable …
The L.A. Municipal Code 41.18 (d)remains an easy way for police to criminalize homeless individuals and make their lives more difficult than they already are, resulting in the U.S. 9th Circuit Court to rule in the “Jones vs. City of L.A.” case that this code violates the U.S. Constitution’s 8th Amendment (No cruel and unusual punishment). In spite of this ruling, certain officers issue citations to people arbitrarily without providing any time for individuals to comply.
Gracie is part of the community of homeless people that camp along the sidewalk and freeway ramps at the 405 and Nordhoff in North Hills. She belongs to a close-knit group of women who share a love of reading and help each other survive the elements and a bureaucracy that keeps them in a constant state of insecurity and limbo. We spoke in the photojournalism lab at California State University, Northridge.
Ok, my name is Grace Crilly. I’m 65 as we speak, I’ll be 66 in December. I grew up here in San Fernando Valley and I’ve seen it grow and change from what it was in ’61. I’ve been through two earthquakes and that’s quite a scary thing, but we did survive, with minimum loss. I went to high school here. I got to two years of college, almost, but I never completed and got an AA or anything (coughs). Excuse me. I, let’s see… I worked, put into the system, and in my too too poor life choices… wrong man…wrong… just bad situations that I got myself into. Wound up, found myself living on the streets, instead of an apartment, a home, or even worst case scenario, even the motels. They all got too expensive. That would be like in 2000. Around late 90’s and 2000.
Unfortunately due to my poor life choices, I’ve been to prison
three times, behind drug addiction and I can say thankfully, thank God now that
that’s not an issue. But some wise man also made Proposition, or Senate Bill 47
which reduces felony to a misdemeanor on these drug charges and that’s helped a
lot of people be able to gain employment now, because of that. ‘Cause not
having a felony on your record which is, I don’t care what anyone says, even
though they can’t ask you certain questions, they still find out and it’s
still… you know, lessens your chances of successfully finding employment.
It’s like virtually impossible if you are a single person to
find even temporary transitional housing, especially here in San Fernando
Valley. They’re just isn’t available. Now if you’re a single mom, your chances
are better. You have a much better chance of getting into transitional
temporary and also for getting onto Section 8 lists and things like that. Now
if you have mental issues, you stand a better chance, but I mean I do have
some. I go through depression, I think I’m Bipolar, but I haven’t been
officially, quote unquote, diagnosed as such. I know I do go through the
depression. I can cry at the drop of a hat, as per now. Um it’s uh, it just
gets very very frustrating. I have
COPD, which is chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, there’s no cure. They can like keep it in remission or it
progresses and last stop would be emphysema and we all know that’s not a fun
place to be. But so far so good, knock on wood. I’m like maintaining it, as
long as I keep taking my meds etcetera,
you know we’re doing ok. I am doing ok, considering.
Situations have come up, I lost my very best friend. He died,
he got hit by a train … we had a dog together, and due to peoples’ busybody
ways, the dog got taken away from me, and that was my very best friend. It was
a beautiful dog, loved everybody and everybody loved him. There isn’t a day
that doesn’t go by that I don’t miss him. You know, it’s just one of those
things and then some other stupid fool.
Um, there was a dog that was like, got adopted through the gang, we’re
talking Langdon boys, and you know despite what everybody says about these
gangbangers, they’re not that bad. They really aren’t. I mean yes, there are
some, there are and they do what they have to do or what they think they have
to do, but that’s them. And many of time ‘Moms are you hungry? Go to Jack in
the Box. Here, here’s a card. Go to Jack in the Box.’ And you know the kids are
very respectful to us. Of course, we give them the same respect in return, you
know. You give what you get.
Ok, well within ourselves, we can kind of police ourselves and
keep ourselves in check. So, it doesn’t have to go to the next level, which of
course would be law enforcement. There are some that have sticky fingers, shall
we say… we try to, you know, put that in check and so far we have not had to go
to the next level. Now, our dealings with law enforcement, for the most part,
had been… well I can only speak for Nordhoff, ‘cause we are such a small group.
There’s only like maybe, a dozen of us. We don’t encourage newcomers, what we
do have we’ll keep, but if opportunity presents itself for someone to leave,
we’re all for it. You know, bon voyage, etcetera. Um, we have more things in
common with each other, and yet we come from diverse backgrounds. We’ve got
Catholics, we have Jewish, we have…just people, you know, and it’s like some
are rich. Some came from a rich background, their parents were wealthy, this
and that. Some from a medium, you know. Uh, and then others came from a poor
background. Or educational wise, you know, it runs college education to barely
made it out of high school type of thing, and yet we do all get along
basically.
To minimize like the danger, we close ranks, so to speak. You
know, circle up the wagons and so far there has not been any tragedies of that
nature. At least as far as the Nordhoff group goes. Now, I’ve heard there has
been some tragedy down at Roscoe. It’s a shame because it was unnecessary. It
shouldn’t have happened. A girl got killed. She got beaten to death. Yeah, a
homeless girl. It was emotional, because I guess, from my understanding, the
person, or persons that did it were jealous of her and a relationship with
somebody else…and it just, it makes no sense.
Well there’s been an issue in the last week or so … the freeway
off ramps and on ramps, on the sides there are State property and when Caltrans
comes to clean up we move from there, and move under the bridge to city
property. City and State don’t mix. You know…but they are joining forces. And
now what the story is, that I hear, of course it hasn’t been verified, but what
I hear is that when the State kicks us out the City is going to be there,
Department of Sanitation, to pick up our stuff and throw it in the trash, and
that way… I don’t know what they think they’re going to accomplish other than
having a bunch of people that are cold. They are not giving us an alternative.
They’re not telling us where to go. I mean, they’re just abandoning us, so to
speak. Now granted we really aren’t their responsibility, but yes we are. Um,
unfortunately by whatever acts have happened, or reasons, or situations, we
kinda are their responsibility. And if you’re going to be, be part of the
solution not part of the problem.
We have a councilman that lives up the street and I’ll just
leave it as, ‘in the neighborhood, up the street’ and he is so gung-ho on
getting rid of us and getting us out of there, but I don’t see him showing any
alternatives. Just that he wants it cleaned up. Ok, yes it needs to be cleaned
up. I can full heartedly agree with him. I know if I was a homeowner I would
probably have the same sentiments, ‘cause you know property values, etcetera,
etcetera. But just because your kid stepped on a piece of glass, that was
determined to have come from a liquor bottle, I’m sorry, but we’re not the only
people that drink. I heard that one of your other children, or one of his
friends got stuck by a needle. Well we’re not the only ones that use needles.
Diabetics use needles. Have you ever considered that? It’s so easy to put the
blame on one group, but without considering the alternatives. And I think we’re
being unfairly accused of a lot of stuff that we don’t do.
I’d say 80% are very kind, they bring us food, you know, care
packages things like that. It’s the other 20% that I’ve had some insults yelled
at me that were… I wouldn’t even repeat.
If they’re coming down the freeway ramp, you know the usual ‘get a job,’ you
know I could understand, but I’m 65. Come on.
But what’s available is, well we can get GR, general relief. We
can get SSI, if you have a medical condition, or a mental condition that
prohibits you from like maintaining a job or you know, holding a job down.
Medi-Cal, which you know helps because a lot of us are getting sick and it’s
due to, I think, this is personal opinion, that it’s due to… there’s so much
filth in the air and on the ground and it’s a sooty kind of thing that just
sticks to everything and it gets inside of you. And I also remember a couple
years ago Linda’s doctor did a culture on the soil from the side of the freeway
and they found over 13 different bacterias and we’re exposed to all of this…
unfortunately.
Just regard your preconceived notions, because all of you are
really one paycheck away from being where we are. It can happen to anybody. You
get downsized. A foreign nation buys your company and says, you know, they’re
bringing their own people in and then what recourse do you have? You don’t.
Excerpts from interview with Linda, Terry and Amy, three members of a community of experienced homeless survivors that occupy public space along the sidewalk and on the freeway ramps of the 405 at Nordhoff in North Hills. We sat at a local fast food restaurant that serves as a focal point in their lives.
Can you tell me about the situation
down here by the 405. Even as we speak there are Caltrans workers there, moving
some people around.
Linda: The situation is, that there are laws that say you can’t
sit, sleep, squat, kneel on the sidewalk. On city sidewalks between, I think
it’s like 6 am and 9 pm.
Terry: I was told by officers 9pm to 6 am you can be on where you
sleep. Only you can’t have anything attached to any of the wires, or fences, or
anything else. From 9 to 6 though. I would figure maybe 6 am to 6 pm would be
more reasonable, that’s what they do downtown.
Linda : And also, there’s a law that says you can sleep anywhere
you want on the sidewalk, as long as you’re 20 feet from any entry door. That
isn’t brought up. That doesn’t even come out of their mouth.
Do the police
come and tell you to move all of the time?
Linda: All the time
Terry: Not all the time. No. Well, the law…
Linda: On a regular basis Terry. Come on, think about it.
Terry: Well once a month they do, at least. But the law states that
sanitation deals with the city. Caltrans deals with the state property.
Anything about or on the freeway onramp is the state property. They have four
sections they gotta deal with, with state property. Each section has a corner
and that’s all they deal with. They don’t deal with any other corner. Now what
there are doing, is they are trying to incorporate Caltrans and sanitation
together, to work together.
Linda: Oh, they’re doing it.
Terry: Once you hit city property they take your stuff and throw it
in the dumpster, right in front of you. They don’t even give you a chance to
move it off and put it somewhere else outside.
Linda: It depends on which CHP officers are there.
Terry: The CHP officers by that point, they wouldn’t do anything,
LAPD is responsible for the city, not state. CHP are much more giving and they
are much more flexible.
Linda: They have heart.
Terry: They give you privacy. They keep your privacy.
Linda: And they give you a chance to get as much as you can, in a
certain amount of time, out. You know.
But they give you warnings when they want
you to move?
Linda: Not always. No. They have a new supervisor. Excuse me, but
he’s a total a-hole.
Which agency?
Linda: Um, Caltrans. And he’s in charge of supervising the corners.
Terry: He’s the district manager.
Linda: Yeah, regional manager.
Terry: The supervisor over here is a young boy, young kid, he’s
maybe 25 or 30.
Linda: And he’s a dickhead. Excuse me.
Terry: Well, he’s been very informative to me. He told me a lot of
stuff that I needed to know. That maybe he shouldn’t have said but he does it…
Linda: ‘Cause he has heart.
Terry: So, I don’t have a problem with that. See, I know now that
they’re going to put us in a position now to where Caltrans is gonna kick us
off of state property, we’re going to take our stuff and put it on city
property, and sanitation is going take it as soon as we put it on city
sidewalk. So try to imagine this is state property, I take all my stuff, I go
out and put it there, go back get some more, and come back, all of that stuff
is going to be in the trash. They are not going to give us a chance.
Linda: And they put it in a trash truck. A smelly, stinky, dirty
trash truck. That goes around down the street, empties the blue bins and the
black bins, and you know all of the bins that are in front of your house.
That’s what they put our stuff in and then they say you have 30 days to go pick
it up, by appointment. Get ‘em to answer the phone.
So they took some of your artwork?
What happened?
Linda: They took it. They took it all. For two years I’ve been
doing my artwork. For two years I’ve been collecting jewelry, so I could open a
store. In January, OK, I had two of the counselors from LA Family Housing that
were my helpers, that were willing to go and say that I was highly recommended
to get this loan. Ok? I was going in January. I was ready for it and sanitation
took it all. I mean, took my future. I tried for two years to get up out of
here and it’s like now I’m right back where I started. It’s been 15 years, come
on, give me a break! (Crying) A
person doesn’t try that hard and work as hard as I have, 18 hours a day, seven
days a week, to try and get out of here if they didn’t want to get out of here,
get out of this situation. They wouldn’t do it. They’d say “Hey screw it!”
So, they came at night and took it?
Linda: No, during the day. And there was a three-day notice, but I
wasn’t in town. And then I had some of my stuff over there and then this police
officer comes up to me, and I had five carts sticking out, and he said, “How many carts are you going to take” and I
said “Well, I’m gonna take all of my carts.” And he said, “No you’re not.
You’re taking two.” You know? I mean who are you to tell me after everything
I’ve done for the last two years, to get out of here? Who are you to put me
back at the bottom? By taking everything I own (crying). That was of value that meant anything to me.
Terry: Same thing with me, but they only had me take one cart.
Threw six of my carts in the trash.
Linda: You know I love jewelry. I always will. And I never had… I
never really had a lot of jewelry but the things that I collected for my store,
I took very few for my own. You know I kept very few, everything was gonna go
in the store. And you can ask Terry. Terry seen some of it and it was
beautiful. And I got it really cheap and I took advantage of that because I
know the prices I know, you know, what it’s value is and what they could have
gotten. And they were generous enough to accept what I offered them and they’re
homeless too, you know. But, my mom did not raise a quitter and I love my mom.
And my mom gave me my values and my standards and my morals and I won’t go back
on them. I won’t waiver on them. You know I’m fortunate, I’ve never had to go
out and turn a trick, do a date, do any of that. You know, I’ve…I’ve
panhandled or I drew the ramp, I recycle and I have people who give to me and
I’m very grateful. I’m very appreciative of that. Therefore, when I find things
I can’t use and I don’t need, I give to the Our Lady of Peace Catholic church and I
don’t even believe in the Catholic religion. Ok? And it’s like you have to give
back. You have to keep the circle going, it can’t be broken. That’s what has
done all of this. That’s what is dividing this country.
How do people treat you when they see you on
the sidewalk under the freeway? Do they yell things at you?
Terry: “Get a job you crusty old man!”
Linda: Like, three weeks ago, there was… for like an hour, excuse
me but, “Fuck the homeless. Fuck the homeless. They ain’t nothing. They ain’t
nothing.” And that’s how they feel, we’re worthless, we’re helpless, we’re
useless.
Who’s saying those things?
Linda: The neighborhood and the kids. I mean the kids are not
taught anything by the parents about respect and all that. And that’s the
situation possibly… yeah a lot of them are out here by choice, but I’m not. I
lost my job at Denny’s because I didn’t speak Spanish.
When was that?
L: 15 years ago and you know, when you don’t have income… and
now at 62 I can’t get a job, because I’m too old. You know? So, I tried… well,
you know, somebody said “Linda, you know so much about jewelry, and about
stones, and about emeralds, and about metals, when it comes to jewelry. Why
don’t you try and open up your own store?” I have a friend, there’s a couple,
that are real good friends of mine, and we all recycle and we have all found,
beautiful, wonderful, expensive valuable things. And a lot of them aren’t
valuable, but they’re beautiful and they’re still able to be sold. So, I was
going to open a store and then by chance I just happened to pick up the statue.
That went into the trash.
Terry: You can’t keep anything
Linda: Anyway, she was all white when I got her and I happened to
just start, you know, messing around with nail polish and painting, and trying
to get a little color on her. And people were commenting and saying “Wow that’s
beautiful.” You know? And so I decide to paint her dress all black and I built
her hat up to make it look like it had a feather on it. There was a lot and the
thing that is so hard… I was gonna have my grand opening at night and I was
going to auction her off for a shelter for single women. It was gonna go for
good.
Terry: The way that people behave…and all of the name calling,
throwing stuff at us, you know all of the stuff that they do, is creating a
very hostile, angry place for us to be and not all of us are staying there.
Some of us are staying there, we’ll manage our mood and manage our behavior.
Some of ‘em aren’t. Some of them if they do it too much they’re going to go
postal on them and they will. They’re
just not in their right mind. And down here, to be treated the way I’ve been,
the way my wife and I have been, they could push someone over the edge. You’ve
been out here long enough to know. What I am saying is, she can sit here and
cry and feel like she does. And I’ve seen her depressed and I’ve seen her in
the best spirits. 100% difference. And it’s because of the way that people are
treating us.
Linda: And the way the city is treating us.
Terry: We’re less than–
Linda: –you know were less than human. You know how there’s a
saying that says, you know, “You’re lower than the crap on an ant’s ass.” I
mean that’s how I’m starting to feel and why keep trying? (Crying) why keep trying if they are just going to come in and say
“No, you can only have this.”
Terry: The state is supposed to help us. This is supposed to be
people that are saying “Hey, we’re going to help you. We’re going to send a cop
down here and the cops going to say all this stuff that’s good and positive,
and follows up on everything he says he’s gonna. And then he comes back, another cop telling
me this and this and this, and meanwhile, you’ve gotta to take all of your
stuff out of your carts and leave it here because the guys here to take your
carts. I’ve got ten carts full …
Linda: And then sanitation comes right up behind them and takes it.
And then Chacon, Officer Chacon, he’s a really good man. He really is. And we
understand that they’re doing their job. But you changed the law to make new
rules yourself. He said, “Well, there’s a new rule.” Now if there’s one
complaint from one parent that their child has to walk in the street to go
around you, they’re calling. Sanitation is there and you’re losing everything.
Terry: And they don’t have to give you a three-day notice. ‘Cause
that negates it.
Linda: But the law is, that they have to give us three-day notice.
And they just said, “No. There’s a new rule.” That was officer Chacon.
Terry: He’s a very nice, gentle, caring officer.
Linda: But his watch commander is getting on his butt.
Terry: If any other cop could be like that. We’d get a lot more
done. He’s kind. He’s gentle. He’s friendly. He’s considerate about feelings.
Linda: They need to teach cops that they’re not machines. They
still have to have heart. They still could be human and it would help more if
they would be more human and teach them under these circumstances work with
them. I mean how would they feel if we went in their three-bedroom house, that
they’re making their payments for and say, “No, you can’t live here, you have
to move into a one bedroom apartment and the only thing you can take is your
clothes.” What would they feel?
Terry: I asked the cop that when he took my stuff. What would you
think if you had to tell your wife all of her clothes are gone. Bet you
wouldn’t like it is what I said. She would be devastated. She would be torn up
inside. All her jewelry, all her personal belongings, all her hygiene products.
Linda: All of her photographs.
Terry: You gotta try and imagine that these women out here on the
street, work hard to get all their hygiene products together, all their
personal stuff. It’s important to them more than it is to guys. I can smell
like a goat for a week. It takes a lot of doing to get all those hundred
things, the makeup, the perfumes, the sanitation stuff and all of the soaps,
creams, and all of the stuff. I mean we’re talking about a fucking shopping
cart full of crap and if one of the things are missing, they’re gonna know. My
wife does. If one little teeny jar of something, if it’s gone she knows.
What about the housing situation? Any prospects for getting out of this situation?
Terry: There are no prospects whatsoever. There’s a couple things
that we need to do.
Linda: If you’re homeless you can’t even get a job because you
don’t have an address.
Terry: It’s kind of like this… If I go to work for example. I went
to work and I worked eight hours a day, everyday, five days a week. It would at
least be up to three week before I would get any money. Everyday I have to come
up with at least fifteen bucks to survive that day. If I don’t we don’t eat. I
didn’t eat yesterday. Why? Because the ramp wasn’t giving me any money. I
tried. I was on the ramp for three or four hours throughout the day, I didn’t
make enough money. That’s just the way the ramp works. Not always it’s like
that, most times it’s not. But you know, I have to provide for my wife, that’s
one thing. Two, it’s a competition out here. There’s a lot of competition for
the ramp.
How do you guys divide that up?
Linda: We don’t. It’s each person that gets on the ramp, keeps what
they have.
How do you decide who gets on the ramp when?
Terry: Well it’s supposed to be an hour, if you have any sort of decency.
Linda: If someone is waiting it’s an hour.
Terry: As a man I will defer always for a woman, I always do.
Linda: And the ones that actually live here and are a part of our
own little circle and family, you know are first. And the ones that have been
here the longest. Ok, like me and Gracie and Leprechaun, we have seniority. But
I don’t care about seniority just do your hour and then let me have the ramp
and if someone else is waiting and I feel like getting off, I’ll get off. You
know, like “here.” If they start giving me money, or I have what I want or what
I need.
Terry: I know that they can’t handle more than a half an hour.
Linda: I can’t
Terry: Twenty, thirty minutes they are done.
Linda: Whether we made money or not. It doesn’t matter.
Terry: On the other hand if I see Leprechaun on the ramp, forget
it. It’s a fight. I’m talking physical. It’s a fight for the ramp.
Linda: Oh don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t get us into Leprechaun.
Terry: He’s the most stubborn person that comes to the ramp. You
know, he’s got his reasons, he’s got his let’s say monkeys, but he doesn’t care
about anybody but himself.
Linda: It’s that way all of the time.
Amy: He is a nice guy. He has character. He’s fun.
Linda: Yes, he is a nice guy. Oh he’s stupidly funny. Oh my God.
Terry: He won’t give it up and he will get to the point where he
will throw clothes at you if you persist.
Linda: Yeah, if he’s been up for a couple of days.
Have you fought with him physically?
Terry: I have almost fought more than once, from getting so angry,
because I have to provide for my wife and myself and he provides for his bottle
and his whatever … just him.
Where does he sleep?
Linda: He’s back under the road. He’s been with us… he got out of
prison three years ago and he’s been over here ‘cause you know, I’m like his
best friend. And I love him to death but he … can be physically violent.
He’s gotten in my face and I’ve gotten right back in his. That why he doesn’t
put a hand on me because he knows. He may be old Leprechaun, but I’m the witch
that will take you out.
Terry: Yeah, he’s OK. He’s not a bad person.
Linda: Yeah, he’s got a good heart.
Terry: But when it comes to money he don’t care.
Linda: But that’s the Irish in him. (laughs)
Terry: And that really upsets me because I really do have a
responsibility to myself and to her, to get some necessities. And it’s not easy
to do. As a matter of fact most of the time we don’t.
Can you tell me the story you told me the
other morning about the Section 8 housing Amy got?
Terry: You know we got through Cornerstone, she got Section 8. And
it didn’t take very long, about a month. She wasn’t as stable as she is now.
She was a little more scattered and a lot more worried. Very depressed.
Amy: I had gone through a breakdown when we lost the house and
when everything was happening, I kind of like lost it. My parents were there
and my ex-husband was renting a room. The epicenter of it all was coming at me.
And my dad has got this like gambling habit, which is part of the reason why
the house got lost.
Why I am curious to learn more about the Empress dowager Cixi
Phoenix boat crew: 120 men to carry the boat and 62 men to row. One standing on the head to direct, and one at the end to control the boat and one man in the middle.
It was an extraordinary day for the hundreds who lived in and converged on Binhu to witness an authentic reenactment of the traditional Phoenix boat launching ceremony. From infants to the aged, all came out to watch the grand entrance and blessing by Xie Tangmo, a Taoist priest, followed by the trek through the narrow main road of town.
Flashing yellows, reds and greens, the din of drums, cymbals, and chanting lifted the spirits of the 120 men carrying the boat on their shoulders, some stoic and others cheerful, all villagers in spirit if not body, they were bringing to life the Phoenix Boat, once again prepared to take on its elder rival the Dragon Boat in a masculine dance for cultural superiority originally sanctioned by the legendary Empress dowager Cixi, who controlled the Chinese government from 1861 to 1908. An era of many rebellions and ruthless dealings, this event grew out of a Qing Dynasty dispute sometime during her reign.
With much grunting, groaning, chanting and sweat, the men lowered the magnificent long paddleboat into the dark green lake. There was laughter as a few of the men guiding the beast into the water lost their balance and landed with a splash in the shallows.
… and then as the villagers watched from
the shoreline, the visiting scholars and other dignitaries socialized and
looked on from a large, moored ferry boat. A few races were held between the
Phoenix boat and a Dragon boat which had suddenly materialized. The
good-natured competition was followed by a sumptuous meal, and several of the
boatmen raised toast after toast to all and one another, and it was a pretty upright and relaxed affair…
It also turned out to be quite an extraordinary experience for the American visitor. Discovered to be the only non-Chinese person in sight, he took in all the spirit and energy manifested in sights, sounds and tastes in the embrace of general goodwill, cheer, and hospitality sincere and unconditional.
After performing ritualistic dancing and animated swordplay at an altar which included candles, giant incense, a plastic water bottle and a massive pig’s head, Tangmo tossed his sword over the American’s head; so intently was the photographer peering through a lens that he didn’t even notice this until he was reviewing video hours later. They smiled and shared a hearty handshake after the performance, two men who providence had brought together on this day—one as a keeper of tradition, the other a witness from abroad— the moment of recognition they shared was born in mutual respect and happiness in the unconditional gestures of brotherhood.
Without such celebratory ritualization, regardless of how misunderstood the origins are to either of them, is there a lack of faith?