Post Interview- “Damn right. This ain’t no California Hotel”

It was a bright sunny morning as I prepared to head out to the shelter.  I probably changed my clothes three times before I settled for a look that was professional but simple and approachable at the same time.  Although i was only set to meet and talk to the program coordinator, I was hoping to possibly get a chance to mingle with the staff and the clients to get a better understanding of the place.  At this point, I was clueless to the whole process.  I made sure to wear comfortable shoes, a skirt with pockets and a jacket with large pockets to fit my tape recorder/camera.  I debated whether to carry a backpack or a purse, only to settle for the latter.  I figured it might give me a humble yet serious look plus it can fit everything I needed with ease.

I get into my car, plug- in the GPS and head out to  Camden.  Instead of listening to the radio I place my tape recorder in several areas  to test how far it can record my voice “testing, testing.”  Now how awkward was that?  I checked my cell phone to see if it was working several times.  I felt a chilling sensation.  Why am I so nervous?  Afterall, this is a family homeless shelter and there is staff and security every where.  But somewhere deep inside, I knew this wasn’t enough. Camden is the second most dangerous city in America.   Just within  the past two weeks, there was a drive by shooting.  Anyway…I pulled out watermelon seeds from the glove compartment and nervously popped every one of them followed by gulps of tea from the thermos.  I”ll be OK.  Campbell Soup is just around the corner (NOT!)

“In point  two miles exit Atlantic Avenue” muttered the British accented lady in the GPS.  The tips of my fingers began to shiver.  As soon as I took the exit, I passed under a bridge where several homeless people were sleeping with their belongings scattered around them.  The landscape drastically changed to that of an abandoned city, lost to the eyes of America.  Pot holes dominated the roads and trash hung from the occasional broken wall or fragments or parts of a fence to an abandoned lot.  Brown paper bags, soda bottles, black trash bags and paper saluted with the aid of the wind.  As I made my way deeper into the city, more boarded houses/stores decorated the streets.  I couldn’t help but think of the hopes and dreams of the children in the shelter.  This is no place to be!

Abandoned lots with trash

Total neglect

Abandoned and boarded stores on a main street

Boarded and neglected homes

“Turn right on Line street.”  Good.  I am finally here.  The road was stripped; I hesitated to proceed, but had to because I did not want to gamble and get lost.   I became extra cautious of my surroundings checking the rear view mirror, the side mirrors, the blind spot…Paranioa  swept over me everytime a car approached.  I contemplated whether to stop and take pictures of the neighborhood but decided to do  drive by photo shots.

Line street. A couple of blocks away from the Shelter

Deteriorating homes in the neighborhood

No place to live. No place to be.

Most homes have security bars for obvious reasons.

“Arrive to destination on left.”  I park my car in the parking lot and debate whether to get down or wait till my appointment time.  I notice a caucasian female smoking a cigaret right outside the door.

I decided to wait for 10 minutes and get my thoughts together.  I take a few photos of the building and I notice the windows on the top floor on the side of the building overlooking the parking area, has bars half way through.  I made a mental note to ask Nicole.

Shelter. Bars on the windows.

It’s five to 1.00.  I gather my belongings, including the GPS and make my way to the front door.  Security cameras are all over the place.  I ring the door bell and wait to be let in.  A voice responds through the intercom inquiring who I am.  I inform them and they tell me to wait until someone comes to get me.  Sure enough, an African-American gentleman arrived promptly and informed me that he will take me to Nicole.  She was on the other sister building.  I followed silently.  My guide was friendly and inquisitive at the same time.  We quickly made our way to the second building, separated by a children’s playground.  As soon as I entered, I noticed the narrow corridor that led to the elevator.  There was no one in sight and no sounds.  I was expecting to see children.

Second floor was where the offices were.  The welcome/reception/secretaries’ office was definitely outdated.  All I could hear was the malfunctioning printer.  The secretary was a friendly Hispanic woman.  I was introduced to her and she asked me to sit on what appeared to be a bench, barely large enough to sit me.  I sat down and took in the atmosphere.  The gentleman and the secretary engaged in a friendly/playful conversation.  I look to the left and I notice the vinyl flooring leading to closed doors on both sides of the corridor.  Behind me were the bathrooms, and to the right an entry to a larger room decorated with an old couch.  Although the decor was outdated, the place was clean and the smell of Dettol reminded me of hospitals.  Suddenly a loud noise came from the ladies bathroom.  The secretary and my guide rush to the bathroom.  I immediately sense the tension.   They ask if everything was Ok and after confirming it was, they head back to the office space.  It was obvious from their immediate response that there was great concern for these types of incidents.

I waited for approximately ten minutes before Nicole arrived.  She was a bubbly and approachable young woman who is currently doing her Master in Education.  We shook hands and reintroduced our selves.  At that time, the secretary and my guide bid me farewell and leave for their lunch break.  Nicole left to find an office where we can sit.  She immediately informed me that she set me up with a case worker who would help with any additional information.  I was elated.  As we walked towards her office, she changed her mind and proposed that we walk around the complex so that I can have a better idea of the place.

Nicole’s bubbly personality and care free attitude definitely helped me relax and open up the conversation.  The first thing she established was “people have a skewed idea of who the homeless are”  She further explained that she was one  who believed that homeless people are just “bums” until she came to work f or the shelter.  She now understands that homelessness can happen to anyone.  We made our way to the larger room to the right.  It is a lounge with a TV, video, and board games for the clients to enjoy.  It was clean, but bare, very bare.  Nicole proceeded to explain that they have two buildings one was for families and the other was transitional living for women with mental or substance abuse.

Where are the clients?  It was extremely quiet.  We walked through narrow corridors with closed doors on either side.  This set up reminded me of college dorms in old buildings.

“Who are your clients?” I asked.

“Our clients range from the individual with a Master’s degree who can’t find a job, fell on hard times and lost their homes.  We have the young (children who left the foster homes, girls who were thrown out of their parent’s home for becoming pregnant, single moms in abusive relationships, single dads as well, women who lost their husbands to gun fire and so on.  Some of our clients are from Camden and others come from other counties.”

What ethnic backgrounds do your clients have?  How diverse is your shelter?”

“We are very diverse in race, economical/educational backgrounds.  We have a caucasion mom with three teenagers from Gloucester county.  She could not find an open space there so she came here.  Fortunatly, her children are not discriminated against by the school district for being homeless.  They are still allowed to go to the same school.  A school bus picks and drops them from school everyday.  It just takes them long to get here.”

I was very pleased to hear this.  We left the ‘transitional’ building to visit  the one with families.  I asked why there was an extreme calm.

“They are away looking for school/jobs, or getting counseling. They have to be actively looking to improve them selves for us to continue accepting them. When they first come we ask no questions, but we make sure they go through the program to improve their situation.”

Outside the building I asked about the safety of the place and she said they have an excellent security system in place.  They have surveillance cameras, security personal and rules that include a complete check up of clients before they are admitted into the building.   While all this was great, I couldn’t help but take note of what she said afterwards.  “We make sure (the staff) to all leave together.  In fact I come an hour early so that I can leave early.  I back my car west to head to the closest main street.”  Obviously cautiousness was priority.

She takes me to the children’s playground that was donated to them.  They, the staff, clients and children built it themselves.  The equipment was donated to them by KaBoom

Playground

Back splash to playground is daunting.

Handprints of children.

Murals drawn by staff

We were buzzed into the second complex and we made our way to the main security office where we meet Mr Jones.  A tall commanding man in his voice and presence, Mr Jones worked for a very long time at the shelter.  His office was where all the ‘body scans’ were held.  At this point, I notice everyone is referring to each other as Mr this or Miss that.  Later it was explained to me that it was how they operated to ensure that everyone felt special or equal to one another.  Even the clients were referred to in this formal manner.

Once again, the building was sparsely decorated with old wooden couches.  I notice mops all over the place.  Nicole explains that even though they have janitorial services, the clients have to do chores.  At that point, Mr jones proceeds to show me a chart with room numbers and their assignments.   In addition, there are small lockers resembling public mailboxes.  Each client has one where they can leave personal items including food such as cereal.  Also, medications are left in the office.  I asked why, and I was told it was for the safety of the clients.  I made a mental note to come back to Mr Jones for more detailed answers.  Mis Nicole appeared to be in a hurry, so I followed her to  the Kitchen are.  She explained they have three meals a day prepared by Aramark.  According to her, families can choose to bring their own food and cook it.

Waiting area and Kitchen in transitional building

The govt pays 55 dollars a day for each client to stay in the shelter.  The kitchen was equipped with a heavy-duty stove, a large fridge, brand new washer and dryer and a large dinning table.

Kitchen for the Famillies

Room where tutors volunteer their time to help the children twice a week

“The families cook together and sometimes the smell is so good, I want to come and eat,” said Nicole.

Suddenly  a two-year old runs to the kitchen.  Finally a glimmer of family life.  Nicole directs him back to his mom.  We pass two rooms and I steal a peek. The rooms are a decent size.  They contain two bunk beds and a closet.  Miss Nicole further explains what they do in the shelter.  They provide counseling, tutoring twice a week for the kids, workshops for the adults and they have case workers on the premises to help the clients.  Further info can be found here.

We head back to the front office where she asks Mr Jones to explain the security they have in place.  Mr Jones was happy to oblige.

“We have very strict security here.  That’s right.  In addition to the surveillance cameras, we perform an extensive check that includes emptying of pockets and bags.  We do not allow for any visitors to wait for our clients within the facility.  We ask they wait outside.”

As he was talking, a caucasian woman dressed slickly came up to the window.  She was wearing a red framed pair of retro glasses, a black leather jacket, black slacks, black leather pumps and a designer leather hand bag.  I thought she was staff.  It turned out she was a client.  “she is a client,” I questioned.  Simultaneously Miss Nicole and Mr jones said “you’ll be surprised who we get here! We have to check everyone because we once had a case where a woman tried to sneak in cocaine in her baby’s bag and baby bottle.”

Mr Jones continued, “we have curfew.  Sunday-Thursday  they have to be in by 11:00 pm.  Friday and Saturday, they have to be back by midnight.  Mothers are not allowed to leave their children behind even if they want to go out for a quick smoke.”  Apparently there was a time when a mother abandoned her child at the center.

Nicole explains that they have three meals a day:  Breakfast at 6:00 am and dinner is at 5:00 pm.  There is a final snack time between 7:45 and 8:00PM.  They are not allowed to have any food in their rooms.  They are not allowed in the kitchen after that, only if they have infants who want a baby bottle heated.

As a parent I know all too well the need for snacks and children who don’t eat dinner but may want something at a later time.  So I questioned, “but that’s too harsh of a schedule especially for families.”  That’s when Mr Jones looked at me and blurted out,

“DAMN RIGHT.  THIS AIN’T NO CALIFORNIA HOTEL.”

I don’t know why, but that was the best description for the situation.  I am not sure why he chose California, but it worked.

I was asked whether i wanted to attend a meeting for the  case workers.  We entered a very small room in someone’s office.  Four case workers; three women, one man, all dressed in black, sat around an office desk.  I introduced myself, quietly sat down and pulled out my note pad.  Up until this point, except for Nicole, the staff was African-American.  The office was claustrophobic to say the least.  Suspended ceilings with fluorescent lights provided for an oppressive atmosphere.  One woman dominated the meeting discussing clients’ mistrust to staff and brainstorming ways to fix the problem.

“There are women who demand to get 50$ for their nails.  They just don’t understand the reality of their situation; therefore, the center has to create educational workshops to combat such issues including issues with hygiene, parenting skills and so on,” explained the head case worker.

After the meeting I was taken for rounds around the center in hopes that I meet a family who will be willing to talk to me.  The protocol for entering into the client’s room was very simple and direct.  “We are like family here and we try to establish a friendly environment where everyone matters.  That is why we chose to address everyone  formally so that we are all on the same level.

Before entry the case worker knocks twice, blurts “staff” and opens the door.  She walks into the room and engages with the clients. Some take that opportunity to discuss personal complaints/concerns.  I couldn’t help but think there is no privacy, but i underestand the need for this approach.  It is for the safety for everyone.

“Do you have any serious problems with he clients?” I asked

“Yep.  Some get physical and we have to call the security guards and the police,” said the case worker.  So that’s why there are many young men, tall, wide and physically dominating in their presence  all over the complex.

We enter a mother’s room and the case worker asks for her permission if I can talk to her.  She questions whether this will be in some newspaper and firmly requests that I do not use names.  I agree and sit next to her on her bed.  The case worker leaves and I am left to interview Miss O.

The interview went very well and she agreed for me to profile her for my ongoing research.  I will post my interview with her at a later time.

**********************

I remained at the center until 6:00PM.  I got to know the women, the children and experienced a tiny slice of their living conditions.  It was delicately suggested, by the staff that I leave and possibly come another time.  I bid everyone good-bye and thanked them for the experience, hinting that I will come back,  expressing a deep interest for volunteering in some capacity.  I was escorted outside the complex to my car.

Reflection

• I assumed the clients would be either African-American or Hispanic.  To my surprise, the majority of women I met were Caucasian.

• I did not ask what the bars in the windows were for, but I assumed they were for safety reasons.  I should ask next time.

• I was confronted with a language situation.  Our class had previously discussed how language changes depending where we use it.  When I was interviewing Miss X. she informed me that she was working illegally and I subconsciously assumed citizenship issues.  So I began to line questions that pertaine to the issue.  Miss X. was taken aback but fortunately she laughed and said “Honey, you’re in Camden.  Language changes here!”  I need to be aware of that next time.

• I did not plan to stay for this long and I definitely did not plan for information overload.  Everyone wanted to talk and share their points of view.  I wish I would have set up other appointments with different staff members.

For the most part, I was very pleased with the interview.  I t was more than I expected.  Although I had preset questions/ideas, I was not able to refer to them.  This is because the interview took its own direction.  I did the listening and they did the talking.  Getting information about the homeless can not be told by one person.  There needed tobe several voices to complete the picture.  Basic information is always attainable.  What i was shooting for was the atmosphere of the place and the people who inhabited it.

For the most part,  it was a dignified place, with friendly staff willing to help transition these people into independent homes.  However, the surrounding area is oppressive and leaves no room for dreams to be born.  For some clients, this is all they know.  And for the children, home is where “my mom is.”  It is not easy.  Mr Jones said it best  “this ain’t no California hotel.”