Never asked where the name came from. He knew people with whom I went to New York Law School. We may have met back in the 60’s. He bought me lunch, then disappeared.
Tag: street people
Don Bottleman
Always a joy to watch him pick up bottles. He puts the non-deposits in the trash and the ones with value in his cart. 76. “I have to keep doing useful work.”
Coyote Smith on Church Street
One day I have to look at some of the older photos of my people. I recognize the people whom I have seen before, weather beaten and aged. Some like Coyote lift my spirits, connecting me to other old friends from the street, here and departed. I remember photographing him, but not his wife, a woman whom he said befriended Paul. He told me Paul was going to stay with them the night he died in the street, but never made it. Lots of people from the street look out for one another.
Karl Berry Is Still On the Move
Karl writes poetry and reads it on a local cable station. He has MS and vision problems. A sled helps him with moving around, because the sticks can only steady him so much. But, if he cannot see, he cannot drive the cart. Who knows how much damage he could do if he hit someone or something? But, if he cannot get around, he will lose his entire social network.
So, I walked down to the waterfront with him. We watched the light change. We watched the clouds speed up their movement across the sky. Then we separated to beat the storm.
Northampton MA
He remembered me from a street shoot. I didn’t recognize hem. Sort of put me off guard, so I didn’t inquire how he got to Northampton. I be better known in the street, than in the studio.
He didn’t usually like to have his image shot. But liked my style. Used to hang out near Harvard Square. Visited art galleries. Likes collages.
Got kicked out of a wet shelter the night before for getting in an argument. “Been on the streets for 24 years…. You go to those places and they got druggies, junkies and drunks. How you not going to have an argument?”
Street People in Brattleboro
Lots of social services in Brattleboro, but limited jobs and housing. People all over have the same problems, not only the ones in need, but the ones who provide them. Brattleboro has narrow streets and wide open minds.
City Hall Park Art
Larry Glen and Kevin couldn’t decide if the pieces which look like furniture were art. They had no trouble deciding that, on this cold day, it wasn’t a good idea to sit on either the sofa or the chair. Both are made of metal and it was 5 degrees.
I mean, what is art? The chair image ain’t the chair; it represents the chair, lacks the function of the chair, has its design, but it ain’t real. It must be art, eh? Too cold, though to talk with these connoisseurs about the topic. It was too cold to even have a camera; I shot with Canon S90, which I kept in my pocket where it fogged up.
Kevin came from Barre. “Don’t drink the water there,” I was told when we came to VT. He has stage 5 colon cancer. In town to go to the doctor and see his social worker, he hopes that Make a Wish will send him to Japan for his last fling to see amime and the life there. He don’t care about cold. He’s still alive. Go live, my man. You have courage.
Larry and Matt Sweet have a tent. No way these guys do the shelter thing; too many rules. Know how to camp in the tent. Keep out the drafts and cold air.
Joe knows some kids, maybe college kids, who let him sleep in a utility room. They give him beer, pot, and food. He offered me some of his pina colada. Not exactly a drink I would drink, assuming I would drink in the park on a day like this, even if I were thirsty or going through withdrawl. I associate pina coladas with warm weather and tropical breezes, not sub arctic cold.
Connor and Country. I cannot be sure. They were looking for someone or something, they thought.
Keith came out for tobacco. I could not see coming out for something to smoke. A hospital appointment, sure; you got nowhere to go or you don’t know where you are, sure; but tobacco …. What a country. We all get a vote, too.
Damn, it was cold. And the cold doesn’t usually bother me. Tomorrow, colder. Joe said only the really hard core would be out tomorrow. We will see.
Burlington City Hall Park – Nowhere Else To Go
Life goes on, though Chad thought I paid too much attention to Paul and not enough to others. He didn’t want me talking, smiling or breathing his air. “You look bad; you should go home.”
Mark knows its time to try Act One.
Amanda has enough self-esteem to put on eye liner. She has a court date at 1:00pm for a disorderly conduct that occurred over the summer. This state, which puts public order above all else, charges Dis Cons as a misdemeanor. That means if you use a vulgar term (whatever that means) in public, you could be charged with a crime. No offenses here. “Who’s your attorney,” I asked? “Just some Public Defender….” I didn’t shoot, because I wanted her to see my reaction. “Sorry,” she said.
Her boyfriend can still balance himself and climb like he did as a boy.
New guy, Gravel, is a traveller. Gotta love the guys who ride the trains. Adventurers, all. Hey, dude. I hope to have the time to speak with you. In the meantime, he needed shoes. Sharon and I got him shoes at the Shuk, the thrift shop at our shul, OZ. The proprietor charged us full price, even though we told her we were buying them for a homeless dude. “I have to payoff a $70,000 loan I took out to build this place.” So let me get this straight. Someone donates clothing for the poor. She put up money to fix a charity shop. I bring in clothes and make donations, too. I pay her $15 for a pair of used boots to give to a person whose feet will freeze without them to pay off her loan, which the shul has not absorbed, even though its mission is to do acts of kindness and benevolence. No wonder I don’t belong to OZ, right now. She threw in two pairs of ratty socks someone had the audacity to donate. When we found him, someone had given him boots, already. I found another person who needed boots. Two men took the socks.
“I wear 8 1/2-9.” “Take the 10s dude,” the traveller said, with an implorring voice, “no one wants their toes to freeze.” Joe draws. Earned commissary money in jail doing portraits of other inmates. Wants to have a show, but isn’t exactly motivated. Hasn’t even come up with a piece of his art to trade for a photo. There’s still time, dude.
He’s on his way to the Labor Department. To stay out of jail for not having paid child support, he has to get a job. Now, there’s a Hobson’s choice or some other quaint homily, simile or metaphor. There are no jobs. If he got one, he has to pay back payments for some kid he had as a kid when he felt feeling himself come inside someone who wouldn’t have an abortion was a cool thing because she was either on the pill, infertile, or just had her period. Now, in these times of economic turmoil when people with degrees and resumes cannot find a job, he has to go find work in VT in the winter, to support himself and his family from whom he is separated.
Eric Saw His Family For Christmas
I worry that he could be next. In Paul’s final days, Eric dragged him to Act 1. He knew Paul was a mess, but he didn’t give up on him. Now he has no one to hang with or care about.
Eric went home for the holidays. Street workers/outreach say Mom calls in everyday. No room at her house for him. Brother home after some financial disaster, according to Eric. They let him take a shower. Gave him a hat, two pairs of socks and food. He doesn’t want the kind of help that he would get if he had a reasonable diagnosis. “I am 30. I got years to go before I’ll admit to any disability.”
Jim always tried to help. He stopped a woman from being groped on a bench. Cleaned City Hall Park in the early mornings. He looks out for his daughter, Amanda. He picked Paul off the ground, several times. Last week, he knew Paul was in trouble. “His color wasn’t right. He couldn’t walk. Wouldn’t share a beer. Not right what happened to him…. We have lost a few recently. Got to keep walking to stay warm.”
Yeh. No one wants to freeze to death. Cold ain’t as bad as dying.
Who is looking out for Jim?
Paul O’Toole’s friend The Chief
Chief came by to wish Paul a Merry Christmas.
“Did you see Rita Markle? COTS would not have taken him in if he was drunk. I told Tim and Wayne that he was dying. His lips were blue. He couldn’t stand or breathe…”
Chief and Jason built the memorial. Someone stole the sign and the Buddah. Paul’s friend from the store across the street gave them the sticks to make the cross.
