Introduction

This blog began as a way to share my experiences in homelessness as they happened, day by day. But because of the interaction between life and media or art, people reached out to help me and I am no longer homeless. This blog will continue to stay alive and become a news source for those who would like to know how the wretched base of our socioeconomic pyramid live. My take on the subject comes from one of personal experience. It will also serve as a growing resource center for those who find themselves without a roof. I will strive to perfect that aspect of the blog over time. The following is what the introduction looked like before I came up from homelessness:

Good afternoon everybody,

It’s a beautiful day. I would like to introduce you all to my new blog, Homeless in New Haven. It chronicles my experiences as a homeless man in an Ivy League town, a Townie town, an Underground town, a desperate big little town in the richest State in the Union, Connecticut, USA

Social services here in New Haven are excellent, including a nearly full schedule of daily breakfasts, lunches, dinners, and bag lunches, sponsored mainly by churches and supplemented by city funds. Your tax dollars at work. Whatever your views on death and taxes, my blog is just a from-the-hip account of “How the Other Half Lives”, to briefly borrow the title from an 1890 book by Danish immigrant and muckraker Jacob Riis. Unlike Riis, however, my experiences in homelessness are not one of choice, nor are they based in a desire to “crusade for the destitute”, per se. My homelessness and its blogged record are a forced circumstance, a comeuppance borne of my own shortcomings as a dubious member of the American workforce.

A few weeks ago, my three-month freelance job editing lyrics for a karaoke company expired. I began scrambling for work the very same morning and was served an initial eviction that afternoon. My electricity was cut off the following day, and the day after that, my Brooklyn-to-the-core landlord kicked me out of the apartment the old-fashioned, efficient, ghetto way: by threatening serious bodily harm, administered either directly or through his associates. He pounded fist to hand as he bore his raging eyes into me and spoke the words, “Get the f*** out my house.” He was well within his rights, as I was two months behind on rent, and when a hood man wants his money, a hood man wants his money. Money talks, you know what walks.

I scrambled out the front door with but a hastily packed suitcase, a backpack with my laptop, and the clothes on my body. My only object of value is my laptop, a fact unbeknownst to my fellow “clients” living in the homeless shelter on Grand Avenue in the Fair Haven section of New Haven. The shelter is a den of thieves. Upon entrance, all you get is dark advice: Hold onto that backpack, Better keep on eye on that, That suitcase will disappear. Most of the clients are helpful; we look out for each other. But here in the unseen underground world of homeless, desperation trumps conscience. Fact. My new life has opened my eyes to the vicissitudes of a homeless culture that lives and thrives by its own peculiar code of honor.

At this point, Homeless in New Haven chronicles those vicissitudes from the standpoint of a newbie. When you read the blog, you might be surprised at some of my anthropological observations I have made. For example, I was elated and ecstatic to learn that racial prejudice seems nearly non-existent here. I see almost zero evidence of anybody preferring one race over another when it comes to making friends or just chatting chummily. If there is any place on Earth in which colorblindness could exist (which it most certainly cannot, nor should it ever, for cultural uniqueness is a Potluck Feast to be savored), it would exist in the desperate land of devastation and personal ruin called homelessness. Here at the bottom of the social pyramid, we depend on each other and fear one another without regard to race. Perhaps you yourself could benefit, and your own character evolve light years, from losing everything you own. One week and you are a new person. In my case, at least.

Cultural anthropology and personal growth are, however, not the topical fulcrum of Homeless in New Haven. I aim to make this primarily a how-to guide for people in similar situations, focusing locally on the New Haven underground, intermixed with stories, anecdotes, character sketches, and other observations. Only occasionally will I diverge into opinion. I will neither advocate nor apologize for the homeless experience. You can make your own choices in life. I’ve made mine. These are the consequences. I must stress that this is not some kind of well intentioned, aristocratic, high-minded, condescending foray into the quaint little slums of “those less fortunate”. This is my fate. I speak to you from this blog as a member of another Humanity, another Reality. One of my aims with this blog is to “leave a paper trail,” as another homeless blogger has put it, to document my trek out of this world. Homelessness is an amazing, enlightening place to visit, even as it is against my direct will, but I wouldn’t want to live here for the rest of my life. I’ve got things to do, a woman to love and care for, and a personal potential to fulfill. Pray for me, or chant, or whatever you do for hoping and wishing good things for another human being. I can do the same for you if you ever need it.

I hope you enjoy what I have to say, and how I say it. Be sure to read the entire blog from bottom to top, as that is the “chronological” order in which I have “published” the posts. The subjects and content of the posts themselves, however, often include flashbacks, etc. Stay tuned as the blog evolves and ultimately tends towards a surer compass reading, and hopefully arriving at latitude and longitude in which homelessness is no longer my reality. When that happens, this blog will “go out of business” – or expand. Visit the Donate page even if you have no intention or ability to give; I’m just rather proud of the look of the page itself. [AFTER-THE-FACT NOTE: I AM NO LONGER ASKING FOR DONATIONS.] And definitely read through the Glossary page. I am told it is currently the best part of the blog. That alphabetical glossary will grow and grow over time, including helpful items for traversing the city, finding help, learning how I survive while I attempt to crawl out of this world, and other items of interest and concern. I will be adding new pages as the blog finds its bearings, such as an “Artifacts” page including scanned-in items like the very telling one-page form I filled out upon first entering the shelter, and/or the soup kitchen schedule that keeps me fed while I climb up and out of hunger. Drop a comment anywhere on the site if you’re the participatory type, or just send me an email. If you or someone you know is homeless, they might find this blog useful. Full disclosure: my wildest dream is to receive PayPal donations of any amount from anybody and everybody who can muster it. I would like to make a humble living as a writer, saturated as our media market is. But I beg you not to read my blog with any kind of obligation in your heart. There is joy in my life, and I have faith in my own strength and ability to achieve my goals one way or another.

I access and post to this blog via wireless Internet coffee shops. That’s how I’m doing this. My possession of it is Top Secret on the Underground. If any other homeless or poor people find out I have it, it will become Moby Dick for some down-and-out Ahab.

However! Please forward this blog to anyone you believe can “take it” or will be interested. It is mostly PG-13, so your kids can read it too. The information is invaluable for anyone who wants to learn what homeless people such as myself do. I will strive to post every day and keep you informed and perhaps even, God willing, entertained or even moved. There is no place like homelessness. Welcome to my world.

One final personal note before I sign off. Do I know you? If not: Hello, from one stranger to another, to each his own, and render unto Ceasar.

But if you do know me, it might be because I am related to you, am friends with you, just know you, or have at least met you once. Many of you may not even remember who I am or where I come from or what on God’s green earth I have to do with you. So to jog your memory, I have lived, worked, or studied in Minneapolis, Minnesota; New York City, New York; Geneva, New York; Lily Dale, New York; London, England; Paris, France; Washington, D.C., and more. You might know me from “the block”, a coffee shop, the workplace, an arts or poetry or social activism scene, the University of Minnesota, Irondale High School, or some newspaper I have worked for. You might know me purely through the Internet, or even from a conversation we had on a telefundraising call I made to you. Maybe we exchanged business cards once. Maybe you host a radio show or work in media. You might not know me at all anymore. All in all, I am most likely an unexpected ghost from your distant past, as my Yahoo address book is almost ten years old at this point. If you still don’t remember who I am and happen to be curious, just shoot me an email. Again, feel free to forward the link to my blog to anyone you think would like it.

God bless you all,

Homeless in New Haven, March 24th, 2007