Tag: street people

Aaron’s Hurting

 

I had just seen him on the waterfront. A little out of his way. Lives in Winooski. Walks everywhere. He always looks stylish, takes quick evenly paced steps, capped head up, similing in an impish sort of way. Wears lots of different outfits, colors and labels. Must spend some time bargain hunting at the local thrift shops.

 

A bike. Hey. It warmed up a little here. Not enough for a bike. He bought it off someone. Clean. High tech. Just have to wonder if it is swag. But in this world, he becomes a buyer in due course. People like him don’t go to bike stores, unless they are selling reconditioned bikes. But, there was more to reach the eye. His arm had a cast and he was wearing sunglasses on a cloudy, gray day.

Not good dude. He’s such a gently guy. Not going to say what happened either. “Oh, the guy from the government did it.” Law on the street. Don’t tell. No one to protect him. He doesn’t think safe or not safe. He just goes from one place to another. Cares about how he looks, but only for the now, not for the tomorrow. Will wait for his smile again. “Hey,” he says, “got a dollar for a cup of coffee?”

 

 

Two Davids


David said the night would be full of fun. What he does for fun, who knows? But, though his life had different reference points than mine, his goals seem the same. If it ain’t fun, why do it? Me. I did many things I didn’t think were fun to go along or get along. He didn’t. Or, if he did, he said, at some time, enough.

This David follows a different path. Always looks unsure of where he is or where he is going. Aimless. Wandering. Sits. Stares. Rocks.

Jerry Foy Needs A Place to Live


Jerry doesn’t have a home. Feels lucky he has a place to stay. “Spoke with HUD; certificates cut back.” I don’t really understand the system, but the so-called cutbacks scheduled for a few days from now cannot mean more housing or social welfare for those unable to care for themselves.

Confined to wheelchair, he parked himself outside a State store. No way to tell what he got from passer bys on their way to buy happy juice. He seemed resigned to doing all he could do to make it.

Bitterly cold out there. He just sat. “You still takin pictures?” I brought my book over to him. Just some recents. “I know him,” he said of Larry’s image, “old-timer.” Knew Karl, the poet, also. Does that mean something I don’t really appreciate? He’s saying that they are making it and so can I.

I see these guys so irregularly. When I do, it makes my day to know they live. Living hand to mouth. I have never done that.

He stays at the shelter on North Street. Looking for a more permanent place which may only give him shelter from the storm. Not ready to ask why he needs it or why no one else has come forward to help. No family. No friends. No social service worker. Wait until it is my turn.

Great eyes, eh!

Larry Is Sitting Still

So, Larry’s friends moved him from the camp during the cold spell. He has a foot problem from his inattention to sores and his inability to change his own clothes. They cleaned him up, raised his spirits and protected him from the elements. Maybe friends overstates the relationships. Hard to tell. The word connotes closeness. Knowing intimate details doesn’t make people close, only vulnerable. But, if you cannot be hurt, then what?

How do these guys qualify as home care attendants? No resumes in this business. You show up for duty, ready to serve. Still gotta live your life, somehow. Mishegas. Oh, how I wish they understood mishegas. I left last night to go to shul for shabbos, Matt said l’chaim. How’d he know? Who cares. I walked into the camp. Saw one of my images on the wall. Not interested, though tears came to my eyes. JFK’s image also hung on the wall.

 

 

Karl Berry Faces Life



So, my friend Karl Berry, the poet, will have hip surgery. He motors around on his scooter, stopping at Starbucks to write a few verses. MS, cataracts, arthritis and who knows what else. In two weeks, he gets his hips done.

He carries a lot in his head, translating it into poems. Writes a little like the beats, Baraka more than Ginsburg. Has a CD out with an image I shot. The pith helmet seems out of place in Burlington. He doesn’t care.

He looks a lot more like Rembrandt than Robert Frost.

 

 

BURLINGTON Feels Snow


Lost on the street. Don’t know when they got here or where they are going. Lost on the street. All in need of repair, in some way. Kelly sits on the street every day. Its her job. She always needs a dollar or two before she can leave. Shivering doesn’t stop her. She has a home and supports a family. Noble and strong looking. Somedays a smile. Somedays a tear.

Aaron doesn’t let the snow stop him. He walks everywhere. Always styling, careful about his looks. Likes coffee and cigarettes. Gentle and shy. Terrific smile.

Rob Roy looks out of place. Suffers from gout. Rails against injustice.

And then there is the traveller. Charlie the Traveller. He wonders just the same as we all do. When will it end and how. Not caring about the fiscal cliff, but who knows?

 

 

Amber’s Projecting


I met Amber a few years ago when she visited Paul. With the hat and heavy coat I didn’t recognize her. Reappeared in City Hall Park the other day. She was looking for me. Wants to work on a photography project with me for school. Her assignment is to find a local photographer to shoot.

She didn’t have a camera; lost the charger. I shot. She posed. We bothered a few passersby to hold a small reflector. The light at 12:00 poked through the bare trees harshly, bouncing off the metal sculptures. No time to head for cover.

Then we walked down to little park in front of the Men’s Room hair salon. Bitterly cold. Low, unremitting light.

 

 

 

Eric Looks Good-James Just Looks


Hadn’t seen him for a while. Went home to see family for Thanksgiving. Staying off the street at Chad’s place, which is near Leddy Park and an Hannaford’s. He can use his food stamps and hang out in a more bucolic setting.

He says he is “a work in progress, just stuck in a groove for the present time.”

James has some problems showing up at school. He says he’s ready to do things. Needs more control over himself. Knows he is smart. Knows he can produce. Needs some support. Tired of prepping and ready to move on.

Richard North Exiled To Main Street


Richard used to control the area near Price Chopper in South Burlington. He has been put off Church St and barred from City Hall Park. But he hasn’t given up on Burlington, yet.

Tough work, if you can deal with sitting on the pavement. Paul used to say it was good work if you could deal with the rain and wind. Paul died on a grate. Richard doesn’t sit alone. Skippy sits nearby, alert and oblivious.

And then there was this new guy who said when I asked him his name, “I have been called many names….”