It’s a Hard Knock Life

I used to bump into Lydia and her partners on Broadway Street during the years 2007-2009. Big Gulp cups of liquor took the edge off life on Skid Row, and they’d move up to Broadway Street when they preferred to pass the day somewhere less violent.

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Consoling one another while talking about a fire that had destroyed most of their possessions.

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Evelyn demonstrates a stabbing they witnessed on Skid Row earlier that day.

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Lydia and another friend.

Skid Row in the 1990s

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So the city couldn’t see this coming?

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So the city couldn’t see this coming?

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So the city couldn’t see this coming?

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So the city couldn’t see this coming?

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So the city couldn’t see this coming?

Hitting the skids with General Jeff

Skid Row’s Silver Lining … 

Many people associate the term “skid row” with an end-of-the-line, bottom-of-the-barrel location where the poorest of the poor end up, either mentally ill or strung out on one illegal substance or another. Life skids to a halt here, by this reasoning. But the actual origin of the name refers to the skid marks left by the lumber dragged through the streets in times long since past. General Jeff, known in some circles as the unelected “mayor” of Skid Row, insists that those who want to change Skid Row’s name to something less stigmatized, for commercial or other reasons, are wasting their time. Skid Row’s many problems, including its status as the epicenter of homelessness in Los Angeles and perhaps the entire country, does not mean its people and history should be forsaken or erased, especially not for public relations purposes. To the contrary, he and others fighting for the souls that live there believe that redemption will come not from sanctimony or patronage, but from an insistence on better representation and policies toward the community.

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If you want to at least scratch the surface of the mind-bending situation in Skid Row today, General Jeff is the right person to start with. The South-Central native has taken on what should be respected as one of the hardest jobs in Los Angeles– to keep things moving in a positive direction in the face of the common sense deficit that plagues the social service, political and law enforcement sectors… General Jeff does in fact fill the void left by a lack of action from City Hall, involved in all aspects of Skid Row life. Mayor or not, he’s been at the forefront of the ongoing move to obtain Neighborhood Council representation for the community. He wants the local businesses in the area to be more understanding and responsive to the residents. To steer the population away from associations with the lowest common denominators of popular culture he fights to have salacious billboards advertising the sex-industry taken down.  

Touring the area with General Jeff is a lesson in both history and civics. He is greeted in the streets with respect and love, fist bumps and handshakes. The landmark mural, created in the image of a traffic sign, is his bold proposition that Skid Row deserves to be respected and taken seriously as something more than the dead end it is dismissed as. Asserting sovereignty for residents who cannot afford or survive gentrification, to use one example Jeff looks at the fishing industry’s use of prime real estate within the Skid Row borders for storage and distribution as a symbol of inequality and the disconnect between the business world and the people. His movement would be happy to see the business owners take a more balanced interest in the welfare of those they are keeping off their properties with coils of razor wire, security gates and fencing, or just dull, windowless, undecorated walls. 

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 The door in the background was once the entry to the Salvation Army kitchen, located in one of the many early 20th century buildings in the area. That this particular building stands is in disrepair is a symbolic and ironic testimony to failed philanthropy.

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With four major missions and numerous other charity organizations, Skid Row on a Sunday morning features sidewalk sermons, with people lining up in several locations for meals and other services. General Jeff firmly believes that not enough scrutiny is paid to the operations of the charity industry, and also decries the “shell game” that is too-often played by governmental bodies at the expense of the Skid Row community, hindering real development and making it more difficult for the residents to rise up. 

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General Jeff is frequently approached with questions and concerns. He is known as a fearless and tireless representative of the community, and does not suffer fools gladly…

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Along with the tents and tarps that line the sidewalks on most streets in Skid Row, the most glaring sign of municipal neglect is the sheer volume of trash gathering in the gutters and elsewhere. One of many concerns is the pollution caused by this trash (which includes syringes and other toxins) entering the drainage system openings along the curbs … one wonders how often city sanitation trucks visit these streets.

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Outside the Hippie Kitchen, where meals and other services have been provided since the late 1960s…

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Mural in progress by Dimitri; General Jeff speaks adamantly about bringing positive imagery and lively colors to the community, to counter the oppressive facelessness and the outdated negative artwork that currently marks much of the industrial and commercial property on Skid Row.

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This is the cliché that has come to represent Skid Row. It is a common sight and a sobering reminder of the enormity of the task.

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A stark reminder of how dangerous life can be; burn marks on the wall where a tent was torched in retribution for an unpaid debt.  

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General Jeff

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General Jeff, the “Mayor of Skid Row,” before his very informative, frank, generous presentation to our documentary photojournalism class; his message is one that anyone interested in matters of urban poverty, homelessness, the situation in Los Angeles and especially the ins-and-outs of the ongoing full-blown humanitarian crisis on Skid Row had better learn. Not unlike any settlement where the inhabitants are essentially displaced peoples, Jeff is part of the heart that asserts its autonomy and demands self-respect. And not unlike, for example, a refugee camp, where the inhabitants have no real power in the face of violence and levels of degradation most only have to wonder about, his leadership is heroic and essential and relentless.

H.O.P.E. (less)

Chaos reigns at the 405 and Nordhoff. Officer Diaz of the LAPD’s purportedly “compassionate” HOPE program has got a “hard on” for certain members of the homeless community there. This is exactly how it was characterized to me this morning, in remarkably similar language in separate conversations with Lynda, Amy and Terry. The small refugee camp that had once again grown into something that was appearing semi-permanent along the northbound onramp was forcibly dismantled a couple of days ago, and in what appears to be a coordinated effort  between state and city officials, sanitation moved in quickly with the LAPD.  Most everyone (except Craig and Gracie it seems) was once again ticketed, this time for illegal use of shopping carts. Terry and Amy moved to a nearby residential sidewalk, Lynda and Gracie to another, and once their carts were taken away, all of their belongings remained strewn on the sidewalks. Thursday (tomorrow), they have been warned by Diaz, is “arrest day.” How they are to move their things without the carts, is a Catch-22 level head scratcher…

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Stress and anxiety rule the day. Lynda, while still managing to show me her latest artwork, is now desperate to get out of this area, and Terry has plans to move their stuff to another location (which I will not disclose here for the time being). Being out of the jurisdiction of Officer Diaz they believe will lower the threat level to their freedom. Nobody is in a hurry to go back to jail.

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Terry showed the most frustration, sifting through their belongings which were organized to look like a yard sale where there was really nothing worth buying. Meanwhile today is Amy’s birthday; considering she was coming off a night where she spent most of Terry’s earnings ($70 on a bag of heroin), she seemed in a reasonably light mood a few blocks away at the North Valley Caring Services Methodist Church site, picking out a free bicycle with help from Manny, Jose Ruiz, Jr. and the others. Terry desperately wishes she would do what she has done before, go into a rehab environment and kick her habit; it’s a decision she has to make for herself and is apparently just not ready…

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This week’s events bring to mind what Gracie said during her interview late last year, which bears repeating here:

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Inexplicable?

It is unacceptable that such conditions exist, and that so many are allowed to fall so low. To sleep outside, no matter the weather, while churches, temples and mosques shutter their doors to keep them out. So much of the most passionate and inspiring writing remains relegated to the comments sections of social media activists. Why aren’t the professional media people trumpeting this humanitarian crisis? Inexplicable….maybe not. It could be that the media has done all they are entrusted to do, and have done it well. 

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There is no shortage of intimate and revealing photographs of want and despair, degradation and madness. Stories, too. What is left is for the municipalities and business interests to marshall the resources and strategies to end the scourge. The scourge– in broad terms, that’s how it feels when considering the ubiquity of urban squalor that has taken root. Those out there in the streets, alleys and cars tonight, who have navigated the social services and judicial systems only to land back on their feet in pretty much the same place, wonder when will real change will come …

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#oneofusarts #oneofus 

“I trusted people too much because of my Christian religion. People would just take advantage and advantage and advantage of me and say, ‘trust me, trust me, I’m a Christian also and lend me, oh I see that you have great credit, but my credit is bad. Can I borrow your social security number?’ This was an escrow lady that’s living in one of my houses right now. Well, it’s her house now. I had sold to her and because of my good credit, she was able to buy my house, but before she could transfer her name over to my name, when the market crashed and everything, she stopped paying me. So the banks were foreclosing on me, not on her, even though I had already sold her the house. It was a big, big mess, a big paper mess. Everything was done crooked.”

* Robert “Bobby” Delgado

Homeless tales (click on photos to read captions)