On Homelessness: One Man's Story

[This Blog is partly based upon the e-book "Squatter in Los Angeles: Living on the Edge" by Nyerges.  Nyerges is an author and instructor in skills of self-reliance.  He has also written “Extreme Simplicity: Homesteading in the City,” “Self-Sufficient Home,” and other books.  www.SchoolofSelf-Reliance.com.]

I used to wonder what it would be like to be homeless, needing to survive “on the street.” Then one day I was in that situation – without a home.  I experienced first-hand the homeless “lifestyle.”  I now feel deep empathy for anyone in such a miserable situation.

Although my period of homelessness was relatively short, I continue to see a part of myself mirrored in each homeless person I see.

I’ve come to conclude that most programs (private and governmental) designed to help the homeless cannot succeed (i.e., eliminate homelessness), because they fail to cognize, let alone directly address, the root causes of the problem.

How did I become homeless?  I became homeless in the aftermath of a divorce.  It was difficult at that time for me to stay focused on clear decision-making.  Due to the complexity of the situation, and the heated emotions involved, and bad decisions, I found myself homeless within months of moving out.  Since the house also had a rental unit, it had provided a source of income.  However, without that, and with the instability of the divorce and move, I found myself less able to support myself.  I had been self-employed – writing, teaching, publishing, lecturing. I did still work, but the income was insufficient. 

I recall seeing myself lose my house, as if I was watching it all happen to someone else.  I think that defines a person in shock.  Of course, I’m over-simplifying a miserable and deeply-chaotic period of my life.

My first “home” when I was “houseless” was the unused cellar of a residential home in the neighborhood.  The cellar was empty, convenient, and inconspicuously located.  I’d seen the open door to it when I visited a friend who lived nearby.  This house was on a two-level lot in a hilly district, where you could access each level from a different street. The owner lived, and kept his car on the upper level.  During the weekends, he would sometimes garden in the front yard on the lower level, where I entered the cellar.  So I generally stayed away on the weekends.

While living in the cellar, I had to be very quiet.  I usually came “home” around 11 p.m. when the owner was asleep.  To this day, I do not believe that he knew I resided in his cellar with my few bags of clothes, my full backpack, and my hammock.

Although at this time I had no full-time job, I did manage to maintain a few part-time jobs.  I struggled to do them. To make myself appear presentable, I took a long time to clean up.  I had no bathroom, but there was a hose outside the cellar door.  I bathed with the hose when no one was around, and I vigorously scrubbed myself clean with my boar-bristle brush.  My toilet was a hole I dug with my small shovel; occasionally, I’d use public facilities.

In the evenings, I’d frequently stay late at inexpensive cafés. Then, having no electricity for TV or light, I’d sneak back into my dark “cave” (as I called it) and quietly crawl into my hammock.

I was never “on the street” like so many of today’s homeless.  I did have a roof over my head, even if that roof was the floor of an unsuspecting homeowner’s living room.  But I still experienced the starkness of no stable home.  I stared into the vacuum of all that I once took for granted, that I now lacked:  stability, cleanliness, order, warmth, availability of a toilet, bath, hot water, telephone, etc.   It was not a picnic.

During this period, I was forced to call upon my latent talents.  On one hand, I could detachedly view it all as a positive “freedom”-promoting experience – which it was.  On the other hand, I realized how limiting such a lifestyle was.  No one could readily contact me, and thus dollar-earning possibilities and social activities were nearly non-existent.  Projects of any sort were nearly impossible to implement without some sort of solid home base.  So although I was “free” of most home and social responsibilities and the need to “perform” for a boss, that “freedom” left a lot to be desired.  The large number of “freedom-froms” that I experienced radically limited my number of “freedom-tos.”

I constantly looked for ways to improve my situation by finding ingenious new ways to wash my clothes, to go to the bathroom, to stay clean, to carry my gear less conspicuously.

Shortly after that, I rented a warehouse from a man I’d know for many years.  He thought he was renting me an office and storage space – which he was – and I wrote into our contract that I could live there.  Which I did.  At the warehouse, fear of “discovery” was not longer an issue.

For most of the previous eight years I had been more or less successfully self-employed.  When I became homeless, it was more difficult to maintain any sort of meaningful employment.  I did maintain a few part-time jobs.  For example, I got a job with a Pasadena church where I opened and closed up after services.  I also worked as a part-time day camp counselor teaching wilderness survival skills.  I’d see hundreds of children and dozens of adults each day, but I didn’t need to be “neat and clean” to do these jobs, and they did not know where I went at night.

My closest friends were extremely supportive.  The places that I lived – the cellar, the abandoned house, the warehouse – were all possible only because of the support of these friends.  I was by no means “alone” or “lonely” as a homeless person, but I was embarrassed and determined to get myself out of that situation. During this time, there was never a moment when I was not filled with a driving desire to rise up out of homelessness.  That constant drive—and help from loving friends – is what forced me to explore viable work possibilities and actively to “find home.”

When you have little, it is very easy to go along, day by day, and convince yourself that “things aren’t really that bad.”  I knew that, for me, this attitude, though seductive, would be deadly.  I even thought about how many people – whole cultures – were nomadic and never had permanent homes.  As interesting as that was, however, being a nomad was not a viable life choice in the city of Los Angeles.

When I worked at the Pasadena church, I frequently encountered “on the street” homeless people.  I was regularly approached and asked for one form of assistance or another – but usually money.  These individuals had very real needs, but I came to realize that in most cases, simply putting money into their palms would not attend to those needs.

During this time, I wondered: Is the homeless problem today symptomatic of a greater spiritual crisis, even a spiritual void?  Has our rush towards unabashed materialism and consumerism been a part of this spiritual crisis?  Is the problem strictly personal? Is it strictly economic?

As I continue to encounter the homeless, I keep coming back to two ideas.

One is that much of the solution to homelessness lies deep within the volition of each homeless individual.  The best help is to show someone how to help himself.  Mindless giving—without an actual self-help program – is of no real help in the long run.

Mark Holsinger, Executive Director of the Los Angeles Mission,  wrote a "Letter to the Editor" in the March 14, 1992 Los Angeles Times.  He said, "As frustrating as it is that not all homeless people accept help, we should not forget that many gratefully accept the opportunity to change their lives.  The problem for most of the homeless isn't a lack of services or affordable housing or jobs.  Their problem is their lack of desire to change  [emphasis mine] -- to get off drugs, to function in a way that is acceptable to society, to respect others and themselves.”  He adds that it’s not easy to get off the streets, but certainly possible to become a  productive citizen because he works daily with those who’ve made that change."

I know that it is a stereotype that homeless people are alcoholics and drug users.  Some are, and they need to do whatever it takes, and accept whatever help is offered, to get off drugs and stop drinking. Still, it should be noted that many, perhaps even the majority, of homeless people are not drug users or alcoholics.  

 

The second idea is that part of the solution to homelessness must rest within the hearts and minds of those more fortunate individuals who are in a position to help.

My period of homelessness in Highland Park was relatively short.  My “recovery” took “only” two years.  In my process of recovery – my gaining of my ability once more to seek stable self-employment –   I never took anything for granted. The memory of the misery of being homeless was hard to shake.  I learned how difficult it can be to rise back up from the bottom.

You’d think that this would have been easy for me. After all, I had already been teaching others about wilderness survival and using wild plants for food for about 10 years.  And those skills were definitely instrumental in the manner in which I lived my life during that time.  But let’s face it.  Urban Los Angeles is not the Angeles National Forest, and where you might be able to live in a brush shelter in the wilderness and catch fish, the urban setting is a social and economic wilderness with rules of its own.  Still, when I see some of the filth and smell of homeless camps, I realized that my skills and knowledge allowed me to be homeless but under the radar of the public. 

Shortly after my experience, I was the editor of a local newsletter and I solicited commentary from various local leaders, including  then-mayor Tom Bradley.  Mayor Bradley wrote to me, “I agree that just providing emergency shelter for homeless is only a short-term solution to a much larger and complex problem. We must also provide job training, physical and mental health services, counseling, employment assistance, and housing assistance if we are to effectively combat the homeless problem in the City of Los Angeles.”   This was in 1989, and Mayor Garcetti is still wrestling with the many aspects of this complex problem.

We must begin to see that there is not a mass called “the homeless.”  Instead, there are distinct individuals – our brothers and sisters – with distinct problems and issues, each requiring unique solutions.

In my interactions with the homeless, I continue to abide by the old well-used Chinese axiom, “Give a man a fish and he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish and he eats for life.” Yes, it may sound trite, but it’s a good beginning.  It takes both sides to make this work.  And the “fishing” that we need to share and teach involves economic habits, job training, work ethics, personal habits, social habits, etc.   All of this will not be easy, but it can be done.