Phone Interview with *John*

I had initially planned to interview John ( for privacy purposes, he has requested not to use his real name) this past Monday, but once again, things came up and he was not able to follow through.  Last night, I received a text from him informing me that he had an hour to spare, so I took advantage of the situation.

I went down to the basement, so that I could have some privacy, and called him.  It was definitely an awkward start.  I didn’t know where to start, especially because he cancelled so many times and I was not mentally prepared.  Anyway, I began by thanking him for this opportunity to interview and that if he felt any questions were inappropriate he should let me know.  He thanked me.

I started with the question that needed to be asked.  “Are you homeless?”

After a slight pause,  he calmly replied, “I am a 30-year-old man who is currently living with my mom in a one bedroom apartment.  Technically I am homeless, but since I didn’t declare it, I am not registered in the system as homeless.”

I sensed the frustration in his voice.  “How did you get to this place?” I asked.

“Where do you want me to start?” he muttered.

“Where ever you feel is appropriate,” I replied.

So the story began when John was barely a teenager.  For the most part, he had a normal childhood with two loving parents, until problems developed between his mom and dad.  It got to the point where there were more bad days than there were good.  During this time no-one paid attention to his school work or even attended parent teacher conferences.

This was the time when his studies took a turn for the worst.  He became disinterested in school and became involved with the wrong crowd.  As soon as he was of age, he got a job and became empowered by the money.  He thought he had it all.  He could afford the clothes he wanted, the cell phone and so on.  At this point, his parents where moving in and out of each others lives, making the children a part of  the fight.  Sometimes, John stayed with his mom and sometimes with his dad.

During his high school year, he began to receive credit card approvals in the mail.  Of course he applied for one, then two then three, and the debts kept piling on.  He dropped out of high school, worked full-time to pay for the debts, only to acquire more debts.  The situation escalated when he was approved for a car loan.   He wanted the Jeep, then the sport car, then the BMW and finally the Lexus sport car.  The $1000 dept became a $60,000 dept, and the jobs were not enough to sustain his dept and his personal expenses.

He moved from a bachelor apartment to a room in someone’s house.  The dept kept piling up and he could no longer deposit money in his account because the bank will take it.  So he kept his money in a plastic bag, and there many times when he lost his earnings.  Slowly by slowly, he was unable to pay for car insurance, but he kept driving his car because there was no transportation near the place he lived.  He had to either take the risk or quit his job.  He took the risk.

This decision gained him more problems.  He racked up tickets and violations.  Finally he lost his licence.   With no degree, a humongous debt, and no transportation, John had no choice but to move in with his mom.

“I am fortunate, to have my mom accept me back into her home.  I hate that I am in this situation.  I want to start a family, and live a life where I don’t have to worry about picking up a phone with a credit collector on the other side.  I want to work a job where I can afford to have an apartment, enough to house me, and food enough to feed me.  This is my dream and I feel it’s hard to achieve given the history of my mistakes.  How can I make things right?  It seems I can never catch up…” he said.

I had nothing to say!  There was a moment of silence.  I didn’t know where to go from that point.  I knew how the job market was.  It’s hard enough to find a job with a degree let alone with nothing.  John spent his teenage years racking up dept and the rest clearing up a dept that kept increasing.

I asked him what his plans are moving forward.  He said, “keep working?”

Unfortunately, he lost his two other jobs, and that’s why he was unable to keep his appointment with me.  He was looking for a job, but almost everything required transportation , or they had awkward shift hours and there was no public transportation to take him to his job unless he walked.

As of today, John struggles to keep $20 by the end of the month.  What comes in goes right out to his debt.  With every year, John feels he can’t attain his dream.  He is getting older and his problems are not getting any better.  He feels life is just passing by without him.  He has had many times when he wanted to give up, but had to continue.  Ever year the future is looking more and more  bleak.

I thanked John for his willingness to share a personal painful struggle, and wished him all the best.

Reflection

John’s story is typical to countless other stories.  Every homeless person has a story to say, and it’s not as simple as we think it is.

Homelessness, starts in the home.  I know there are many who overcome their problems , but there are many more who don’t.

The biggest question for me is:  Who is to blame?

Is it John, his parents .or the credit card companies that approve the young without true consideration for their well-being?

John fell into the well and society buried him alive.  He made mistakes, but unfortunately he will pay for them for the rest of his life.  In fact, he paid his life, his youth, and his dreams.

The conversation with John was ‘easy,’ to say the least.He had no problem recounting his story.  I just felt helpless in the process.    Nothing i say will change his situation, which is very unfortunate.

The phone interview was definitely more personal than the email interview.  I felt I connected with the person though his voice that said more than just words.  I sensed the frustration, the hopelessness, the helplessness…

Change in Interview Schedule

I was supposed to interview a man who is on the verge of becoming homeless.  Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to interview on the scheduled due date, so i had to reschedule for Tuesday April 19th.  I will post a pre interview blog post on the 17th of April.

Who is a stranger?

I would like to thank my dear colleague Joesph McGee for his thought proving response to one of my blog posts, where he asked whether I find myself  “falling over the line” with regards to the delicate line in ethnographic research .  A young homeless boy(8 or 9 yrs old) approached me with his grandmother and wanted my help (he did receive a winter coat, and other items).  I, without much thought, told him that I loved him, and gave him advise to “stick to school no matter what.”  By the end of this interaction (lasted 45 minutes in the Cathedral Kitchen), his granny gave me a hug and a kiss, with tears in her eyes.  She wanted someone to care.  At the moment I felt it was the only right thing to do.  Upon reflection , I struggled with where to draw the line, and then dismissed it until Joe revisited it.  I proceeded to reply to his post and found one sentence dragging to the next and one thought evoking another,  So I decided to create a blog post.

Throughout the course of my research with the homeless population, I struggled with the fine line that we shouldn’t cross, the line that defined strangers in relation to myself and my research.

My first trip into the homeless shelter was very much guided by the rules.  I was very much aware of my place in relation to the homeless.  That quickly changed, approximately an hour into the interview.   I planned to go in, ask my questions and leave.  That wasn’t the case.  It took about that much time just to get started.  My scheduled interview became a whole day at the shelter.

“We are family here and if you are planning to interview anyone, you need to build a relationship of trust so that they can share.  They need to feel you are one of us otherwise they will be suspicious.  Be yourself,”  the staff members advised me.

The rules change when dealing with the homeless, especially the children.  It’s either they like you, want to talk to you, allow you to stick around, or they don’t.  I noticed  the staff adopted a care free friendly attitude towards  the clients.    They emphasized this as very important to their transition into the real world.  Children in this environment are very vulnerable and seek for emotional comfort from the staff.  What I found interesting is many approached me with guards down, ready to share.  Some mistook me for a nun, others (the children) found it completely appropriate to jump over my head whilst i was talking to their mom.

You see, there is a whole different culture in this community, built on emotional ties.   I needed to build an immediate  bond and establish a level of trust that allowed for these people to share their personal stories.  The volunteers, staff members, Doctors and nurses have all adopted this relationship that is very much focused on physical contact, such as quick hugs, and language focused on emotional bonds.  This is purposely done because for the homeless, this is their family, this is their safe haven.  They need to feel we are not observers, they need to feel we are concerned and we genuinely want to help, they need to feel we are family.

I was told there were some issues in the past, when journalists came in, adopting an air of authority and establishing a barrier of stranger versus homeless.  The homeless population is very suspicious and if one can’t break the barrier, there will never be a successful interview.

They have adopted a networking culture very much rooted in  physical and emotional contact.  With that, I mean a hand on the shoulder, a long hand shake and intimate language such as “how are you doing, baby, honey, darling and so on.”

I come from a culture that emphasizes hugs and kisses as a norm; it was easy for me to relate.  It is the norm to meet someone for the first time  and give them kisses on the cheek and hugs.   This belief is rooted in the philosophy that we already share a lot as humans, and as such we are not really strangers to one another.

When I first migrated to America, I was told  to keep my distance.  The general rule was, an arms length.   My question was always “Why?”  What is the purpose of that?  With time, it became a norm, but I found it affected the way I interacted.  Slowly I pulled away.  This course of action, I felt, developed a new level of human interaction that is unfamiliar to me.

I found myself calculating my every move, wondering what’s  appropriate, or what’s not, or whether I said or did anything to offend anyone.  Quite frankly, this became very exhausting and not worth the effort.  Recently, after I joined the writing center staff (a special hi to all the wonderfull caring staff that work there)and began to interact with young college students, I found that many are in need of this contact, this special attention of close, and caring human contact.  Many of the Friday sessions became a time to bond and speak about very personal issues.  There have been times when tears were shed.  I feel, we don’t bond enough, share enough, cry enough, and most importantly, view each other as caring companions.

I have no idea how all this ties to the homeless, but I feel there is a connection.  Many of the young homeless population have escaped their families and opted for an invisible life in boarded buildings.  Some may have drug problems, others have baby problems, some may have been molested, and so on.   But is there no other family member? Is there no other caring hand but the state’s?  I understand answers to these questions may not be the solution to the problem, but at least they can be the beginning of understanding the complexity of homelessness in an advanced country; the country where dreams come true.

Finally, and that’s not to say I won’t be back, I want to thank Joe for triggering this response, one which can be a thought-provoking debate on human connectivity and redefining strangers, especially within the homeless population.

Post interview: Abandominiums

Harold Miller is the out reach Manager for Volunteers of America, Delaware Region.  Part of his job is to go out into the streets, find out where the homeless sleep and eat, then try to get them to join their programs and get off the streets.  In addition to this, he tries to locate other programs  that might be helpful to bridge the gap between the clients and the programs.

According to Mr Miller, many of those that choose to stay on the street do so because of drug and alcohol addiction.  Many of them aren’t even eligible for government assistance or programs because of the federal welfare law that imposes a lifetime ban on anyone convicted of a drug-related felony from receiving federally funded food stamps and cash assistance (Temporary Assistance to Needy Families, or TANF). This law prohibits receipt of benefits even to those individuals who have completed their sentence, overcome an addiction, been gainfully employed but were subsequently laid off, or earned a certificate of rehabilitation or other form of clemency.

“It’s a definite problem, because many have committed this crime when they were young.   After they come out of jail and receive no help, they find themselves reverting back to this trade to make a living” says Mr Miller.

Mr Miller, who has worked for this organization for the past five years, asserts that the only way he was able to reach the homeless community was to build a relationship of trust.  He knows their names and they refer to him as “Hal”.  He eats with them, plays cards with them and has basically become a family member to the invisible people.  He loves his job with a passion and he doesn’t stop working when the clock strikes 5:00.  His cell phone number is shared among the homeless community who call him any time for help.  Sometimes he receives calls at various hours of the day to help a teenager who was just kicked out of his parent’s home and doesn’t know where to go.

When asked about the homeless on the streets he affirms my suspicions of  the danger that comes with such a lifestyle.  He asserts, ” it is a different level of danger.”  They live in abandominiums (boarded buildings).  Many don’t want to be found by the authorities for many reasons.  One of the reasons is they don’t want to be found by their families.  They chose to live in these decrepit buildings rather than with family.  Mr Miller has been in many of these buildings and he describes them as being infested with feces and needles among other illegal substances.

Because he knows many of the homeless, he asks for their permission to go into the buildings otherwise it would be very dangerous.  For many who live in those buildings, they fear any outside interference because they regard the place as their own home.  He makes sure to get the green light before he ventures into the buildings.

Those living on the street receive $200 in food stamps and $140 in cash for a single person.  Many are forced to remain on the streets because of  substance or mental abuse.  They are excluded from receiving aid and they just can’t find any other solutions.   Many single moms choose to hide from the authorities for fear of being reported as homeless and loosing their children to the system.

Once the homeless are transitioned into their own government subsidized homes, they only have a year of support before they have to support themselves.  Unfortunately, many are unable to stand on their feet and have no choice but to turn to the streets.  In fact locating subsidized housing is hard to do because many landlords know that the government will only pay for a year and they are interested  in two-year leases.

Mr Miller asserts there are many problems that are hard to fix and invites me to come into the center to understand first hand the complications surrounding the homeless issue.  He explains the email limits what he wants to discuss.  I accept his invitation and thank him for his time.

Reflection:

I did not enjoy the email interview.  It was impersonal and lacked  the personal connection needed for a successful interview.  I asked questions and they were answered, but I couldn’t carry out a meaningful conversation.  I could not fully experience the process.

Many of Mr Miller’s answers posed further questions.  The abandoned buildings that housed the homeless are of special interest to me.  Why would anyone choose to live such a life?  I feel the answers will fall short to truly understanding the issue.  Where are the families?   How can a person be reduced to this way of life?  When did it all start to change?

Afterall, the man lying in the middle  of feces and used syringes, or the woman sitting with her back against the wall, were once someone’s baby, learning how to walk and talk.  Now they float in uncertainty.  What about the incarcerated with  drug problems?  They come back to the community, only to fall back and return to jail.  How can they get back on their feet without any support? Sometimes, government is not the only solution.

Although many programs are designed to help, unfortunately something has failed, something so deep and close to the core.  I believe homelessness starts from birth.  There needs to be a change in our core values.  A baby does not dream to be homeless.  The social structure is very unforgiving and the family unit has lost its traditional role.  This is not to say it is the only problem, but it is to say, it is a huge part of the problem.

Pre interview notes for Harold Miller

I will be interviewing Mr Miller, a tireless advocate for Camden’s Homeless population, via email/phone.  He will write what he can and the rest will be via phone.  I am very interested in Mr Miller’s background, in particular his outreach approach in the city of Camden.  Since this will be my first interview via email, I am interested to see the outcome.

I found Mr Miller while researching the homeless topic online.  He is very involved with the community and currently works for Volunteers of America.  Additionally, Miss K. from the cathedral Kitchen mentioned his name several times and suggested I contact him via email as she believed that he would be an excellent source for my project.

My initial questions will be guided by who, what, when, why, and so on.  I realize this will not be an active interview, so I imagine the answers will be bland.  Some of my questions may require in depth responses that might be somewhat of a burden to the interviewee.  According to Postmodern Interviewing, under normal circumstances one might use emoticons, but in this case it might indicate a friendly and “rather impersonal approach”  (92), which might seem as an inappropriate way of conducting an online interview with someone I’m not familiar with.

Anyway, for now I will stick to the basic format and hope for the best.  I will follow-up with the results.

Harper Piece for Annotation

 

This was an art piece created by the families living in the Shelter.  Each square represents a message written on individual cloths stitched together to look like a quilt.  It is approximatively the height of the wall.  As I was walking back with a mom from the store to her room, I noticed it.  She immediately said, “I hate this.”  I was taken aback, but never really questioned her emothion.  I have chosen this piece for my annotation, hoping to highlight the irony within many of the messages created by the staff and famillies:

Crime. Politics, Education.

Be happy in dangerous neighborhood.

Volunteers of America.

The social system.

The hypocracy in helping but not really addressing the problem.

The picture of a happy single mom in a camden Shelter when she is surrounded by violence.

Kaboom, a non- profit organization commiting to build safe playgroungs for kids, but is Camden Line street a  safe place…

Motto ‘Don’t talk to strangers’ when they live with strangers.

Having to ask people to put on a facade just to look good on paper.

 

Art created by homeless families in Shelter

 

 

“I’m done talkin. Hell i even talked to Sister Mary over there (Referring to me)” Post Interview@Kitchen.

As usual, I debate the ‘clothes issue.’  I don’t want to stand out; especially in a soup kitchen that feeds the homeless.  I settle for the ‘comfort’ look.  I want to be able to blend in, but then again i don’t know what that is.  Will there be homeless individuals dressed in tattered dirty clothes that smell or will they look “average” (whatever that means!)  Anyway, I go through the whole check list and end with plugging  ‘1514 Federal street, Camden’ in my GPS.  I wanted an earlier appointment that will give me enough time to leave when it is still daylight.  Unfortunately that was the only time Miss K. had.

This time I was not as nervous as with my trip to the Shelter.  I exit the Campbell soup exit.  I felt I had it under control; I am  familiar with the area.  I continue following “turn left, turn right” until I find myself in front of Campbell’s security booth.  This can’t be right I thought to myself.  So I back up and turn left towards Haddon Ave.  Maybe the GPS will recalculate and guide me back to my destination.  That didn’t work.  I began to panic once again.  Instantaneously I decided to drive back to Campbell Soup and ask the security guard for direction.

“Do you know where Federal Street is?  I don’t know what’s wrong with the stupid GPS (I should have upgraded).”  I blurted.

“Ohhh yahhh, since Campbell remodeled, they closed the road that was supposed to lead to Federal.  What you can do is make a u-turn into Campbell and make the first right at the stop light.  Then you should be able to get to Federal.”

I found Federal, but not the Kitchen.  I thought it would stand out since my preliminary research indicated that it was a new remodeled building.

As usual, the surrounding neighborhood was disgraceful in appearance.  I thought I would catch a glimpse of the homeless since she told me that they serve Dinner at 4:00 PM.  There was nothing, just deserted.  I decided to find a parking spot and call them.  I fumbled for the phone, called them and the voice on the other side shouted “there’s static on the phone, call again.”  Frustrated, I called home and asked my husband to verify the address for me.  It felt like forever, and I felt nervous and awkward in my parked car, especially when another car with two male individuals parked behind me.  I decided to make my way back to Campbell’s.  A block, away I saw a building to my left that appeared to be better that the rest.  This might be it, I thought.  I made another u turn and drove into the parking lot.

 

Building across the street from the Kitchen

 

The Cathedral Kitchen

There was a gentleman coming out of the building, so I asked if this was the Cathedral Kitchen.  He confirmed it was.  Looking back, I may have missed it because I assumed that it would be surrounded with the homeless waiting to get in.  That was not the case.  In fact, the place looked like an office building.  Upon entry, the receptionist, a friendly mid 50’s woman greeted me and took my information.  I was asked to sit.  To my left was what appeared to be Dental/Doctor’s offices and to my right were the staff offices.  However they were behind the security door.  No one was allowed in until the person you are set to meet comes to get you.

So I waited for Miss K.  The doctors and nurses were obviously busy.  Soon enough Miss K. Opened the security door, briefly greeted me, and escorted me to her office on the right.  As soon as we entered, I heard light background music.   She left the door open.  “So what is it exactly that you want to know,” she questioned.  I did not even have the chance to sit down. She was direct and gave me no room to establish a bond.  I struggled to keep my back pack up.   I pretended to look for my cell phone so that I can buy more time to gather my thoughts.  “I need to shut my cell off so that we are not interrupted.  It worked!

I began with a brief introduction about my research and how I hoped to make it into a Thesis.”  She listened with no interruption.  I kind of hoped for interruption because it allows for the barriers of formality to break down.  She leaned on to her desk with one hand propped up to rest her left side of the face on.  I don’t think she blinked, or that might have been my nervousness.  I thought, oh my God, she can see through me and she knows I still don’t know enough about this topic. She must be thinking; just another one of those students with nothing to do.  I continued to “blah, blah, blah.”  Silence ensued after my voice drowned into the walls.

“Have you heard of Covenant House?” she finally muttered.

“No.” I responded.

“You’ll probably know a lot more about it when you research this topic further.  Covenant House targets the homeless between the ages of 16-21.  I did my masters on the Homeless.”

Finally, a breakthrough! I expressed a great deal of excitement and proceeded to ask her about her Research.  She was obviously happy to speak about her Thesis. Her book was published in the Lincoln Library.  She rested her back on the chair and shared her experience about the Homeless.  Her demeanor changed.  She was definitely ready to interact.

I captured the opportunity and eased my question into her discussion of her Thesis, “Who are the people of the streets and why are they not in homes or in the programs offered?”

Her immediate response, “Among many reasons, they suffer from mental instability or substance abuse.  They choose to stay in the streets because they spend what they have on drugs.  They don’t want to stay in a shelter because there are rules and regulations that they have to follow.  That’s not to say that all of them are like that.  Some of them are homeless because they fell on hard times.  If you are staying on someone’s house, you are homeless.”

Apparently, the homeless on the street receive Welfare even if they don’t have an address.  Their checks are direct deposited so they use a bank card to get the money.  I did not know that!  Miss K continued to explain that there is a myth where people believe that individuals with criminal backgrounds can’t get jobs.  “They can get jobs.  There are agencies/organizations such as Operation Reconnect who specialize with getting jobs for people coming out of prison.”

She further explained they have a program, Culinary Arts training Program, which takes in convicts or people with no skills, train them until they have a degree, and then help with job placement.  This 17-week program is valued at approx. $1500 and enrolls 40 students at a time.  They have two 17-week sessions.  The training takes place in the Cathedral kitchen where they work under the master chef to prepare the food for the homeless.  I had no idea.  Now that’s what efficiency is all about.  Everyone benefits.

Although I already assumed that the poor and destitute are the only people who come in to eat; nevertheless, I asked, “what kind of people come in here?”

Leaning back on her chair, swinging from side to side, with a large window behind her overlooking the dining hall and Chaka Khan’s Ain’t nobody playing on the background, she said, “Not everyone who comes here is homeless.  Some choose to come here because we have good food.  Ours is not fake food.  It’s good food. We don’t question anybody.  Looking at me you don’t know whether I am homeless. Just because I carry myself with pride does not mean I am not homeless. That’s what gets me-misconceptions.”

At this point, I just wanted to get up and dance.  “Ain’t nobody loves me better” just had that effect.  Miss K., passionate about the homeless, about the kitchen, about the people who come in, was inspiring.  Someone does care, and loves to help those in need.  I pictured the whole dining hall dancing to “ain’t nobody loves me better.”

The center offers one meal a day cooked on the premises by the chef and the culinary class.  This is their 5th class since the program started. They have over 3000 volunteers, mostly retirees.  They also receive donations from restaurants, companies and individuals in society.  One of their major contributors is Campbell Soup.  The kitchen is one of the first buildings to go ‘green’.  It is built from recyclable material.  They have showers in the facility and provide toiletries for all who need it.  For more info visit http://www.cathedralkitchen.org/

In addition to providing a meal a day, they have Project H.O.P.E , the Project smiles dental group, and the South Jersey Eye Center on the premises.  They provide free health care to the homeless.  Also, for those who need legal assistance, South Jersey legal services provide legal assistance twice a month.  All I can say is “what a dedicated group of people/staff.”

It was approaching 4:00Pm and Miss K. stood up and said, “I need to change.”  I was taken aback, “do I have to change too?” I inquired.

“No, you look fine.  It’s just you can’t wear anything revealing when you go out there,” she responded.  At that point I noticed she wore a lace blouse.  She picked up a blazer/sweater, grey and simple from the coat hanger and said, “come let me show you around before they start serving the meals.”  We walked out of the secured section into the Dental offices on the other side of the Receptionist’s desk.  The first thing noticed is everyone noticing me.  I’ve come to understand through this and prior experience that people are suspicious of observation and note pads.  They automatically feel as though they are being evaluated/judged.  Anyway, the Dental seats were clean and in great shape.  Frankly, they looked better than those in my Doctor’s office.  All the seats were occupied by clients and it seemed the Doctors and nurses were very friendly with the patients.  In fact, I learnt that they will actually go to the patient’s location if they can’t make it to the clinic.  How awesome is that???

From researching the homeless, i found that the system tries to encourage them to use these clinics as opposed to emergency rooms.  I find that ironic given the fact that people with health plans are encouraged to go to the emergency room as opposed to the clinic.  I experienced many a times when the Doctor’s office encourages the sick patient to go to the emergency.  I have come to believe that clinics are for the healthy, but that is just how I feel.  They are great with well visits and the minor flu, but anything else “GO TO THE EMERGENCY.”

I digress…Anyway we finally open another security door leading into the spacious dining Hall.  First impression-clean, very clean.  The tables were already set up with water bottles, dessert cupcakes and loaves of Pepridge farm whole wheat bread.  WOW!  The tables can sit up to 10 people, 5 on each side.  Miss K. introduces me to the volunteers who help serve the homeless.  We then make our way to the kitchen.  “You’ll never know from looking at them, who has a criminal background.  As soon as we walked in I observed Miss K’s interaction with the staff.  She knows them all and chats with them as though they were her friends.  They were all happy to see her.  Some had questions/concerns to share with her.

The kitchen was exceptionally clean and spacious, housed with stainless steel appliances.  The atmosphere was relaxed and jovial, to say the least.  I saw the humongous walk in fridge packed with culinary art presentations of food.  The food pantry was packed with donations from everyone.  I observed a student prepare a wonderful plate of fruits designed to perfection.  Surprisingly there was no food smell.  The hygiene was impeccable.

 

Food prepared in the Cathedral Kitchen by the Culinary Art students.

 

Pantry containing donated food

The chef, a tall and healthy man, said, “We don’t serve pork.  We only serve chicken or Fish like Tilapia or Salmon.”  Today’s menu was a healthy sizable serving of Spanish rice, Chicken leg and thigh, and Watermelon and Pineapples.  I thanked the staff for letting me into their kitchen and headed out to the dining hall.  This was my opportunity to take photos before they start serving.  Miss K. suggested I sit at the back where I can observe the people as they come in.  I gladly oblige.  She then mentioned that they have designated special tables at the front for families.  I asked why and she explained that there are times when there is vulgar language and they don’t want the children to be exposed to that.  I thought about that for a second and realized they’re already exposed to that and even more!

"We serve people with dignity" said Miss K.

Tables prepared to serve

Plates are served hot just right before they come in

They are given a goody bag to take with them

Miss K. decided to pull a chair next to me and provide me with some information about the clients as they come in…  Two minutes before they open the doors, the volunteers stand in a circle holding hands.  “They are praying,” she said.  Then they open the doors and the people file in.  Most of them were men from all races.  From the way they were dressed I could not tell who was homeless.  There were those who came in with dirty clothes or appeared to be unbalanced, but for the most part, it appeared as though it was just a get together.  I noticed a couple of families come in with children.  One child waved to me.  I waved back and he approached me.

He was wearing an oversized jacket and a pair of jeans.  “How old are you?” I asked.  He answered “nine.”  He was the same age as my youngest son.  I told him to catch up with his family and that he can come back to talk to me after he ate.   As he turned to walk away I said without much thought “I love you.’  He whispered back “I love you too.”  I couldn’t help but feel helpless to the whole situation.  His eyes were so expressive with sadness.

Miss K. obviously knows most of them and they know her too.

“How you doin’ baby?” was the repeated phrase followed by friendly exchanges.  Some would come and give her hugs, and chat for a few minutes; others will shout out, “I’ll catch up with you later.”  A white male, 35-40 yrs. old, tall, wide shouldered, dressed in casual pants, shirt and Jacket, came to her, gave her a light hug and asked whether he looked good with his new clean haircut and perfectly trimmed beard and mustache.

I had no idea he was homeless.  Several approached Miss K.:  a transgender male with a bright pink leather jacket and tight black pants, swinging from side to side complained to her about a failed relationship, another with a Sherlock Holmes look complained about his dentures (he will be the first recipient for a new apartment in a new complex after almost 10 years), and the most memorable, a man who resembled George Jefferson from  The Jeffersons show.  He was funny, light-hearted, a dancer (I was witness to his moves) and very entertaining.

“How have you been doing?” asked Miss K.  He proceeded to complain about many issues.  She suggested he talk to someone.  That is when he said:

“I’m done talking.  I talked to the social services, to the mayor, to the President, to the Rabbi, hell I even got done talking to sister Mary(or whoever you are) over there and even she got no answers.”  He referred to me as Sister Mary.  As funny as it was, it was sad.  At that point, Project H.O.P.E  intervened and the Nurses tried to have him come in for a health checkup.  He turned to me and said, “she is the nurse who jumped me with the syringe last time.”  The nurses laughed.  I guess they are used to his approach.  He kept going back and forth sneaking more plates in his back sack.  The staff new, it but let it slip.  How humane was that?

Miss K. pointed to a healthy looking man and referred to him as ‘the Mayor’.  He refers to himself as the mayor of Tent city.  He was with his wife and sister. He was one of those people who choose to be Homeless.  He was offered housing but declined and came back to Tent City, even though his wife got really sick from being outside.  He would be someone interesting to interview next time.

Everyone ate quietly, conversing amicably with one another or with the volunteers or staff.  There was one woman who was extremely suspicions of me and my note pad.  She kept me under her eyes and finally asked what i was doing.  My explanation did not satisfy her and she remained conscious of me the whole time.

Finally the garbage bags began to fill up with empty plates.  I took notice of the little boy and his family.  He walked over to me with his grandmother and little sister.  His grandmother sat next to me and began by “he needs clothes to go to school with.”  Her English was limited.  I struggled to understand her.  Their father was incarcerated and they travelled all night on a train to come to their grandmother, who was poor as it is.  “Chico, tell her what you want.”  So his name was Chico.

“What do you want Chico?” I asked.  He wanted a winter jacket and a sweater.  I told her that I will inform the case worker and bring him some clothes myself.  At that moment, Miss K. came and immediately went in to the offices only to come back with the perfect red winter jacket, orange sweatshirt, stuffed animal for the girl, and toys for both of them.  Chico took off his grandmother’s sweater and wore the new clothes.  I zipped up his jacket.  The grandmother insisted to give me her phone number.  I wrote it down next to Chico’s name.  That is when they all laughed and informed me that his name was Lawrence.  Then who was Chico?  Later I came to find out that Chico means boy in Spanish.  Once again I was confronted with a language barrier.  The grandmother gave me and Miss K. a kiss and a hug.  Chico looked at me with his big brown eyes.  Chico has already added years to his age.  He now has to share in the responsibility of his sister

The dining hall emptied, and it was time for us to head back to the office.  Miss K. gave me a great source, the Hot Team.  “They go out in a van twice a month to the hot spots for homeless people and try to bring them in for help,” she added.  She gave me the email for the point person then she bid me goodbye and said, “Beware when you are heading to your car.  You have to be mindful with everything around you.”  She buzzed me out of the secured offices.  I quickly made my way to my car, took a few pictures and rushed back home.  I definitely plan to come back.

 

I leave the the parking lot of the kitchen

Although there were problems in these people’s lives; nevertheless, there was an air of dismissal to the problems and all I saw were people sincerely enjoying their meals and   having conversation, something I haven’t witnessed in professional settings.

Reflection:

• There was a situation that happened with my tape recorder.  After my usual pre-check in the car, I forgot to turn it off.  A few minutes into the interview with Miss K. i asked whether she would mind me interviewing her.  She did.  She was OK with note taking.  So i continued with the interview.  At one point I reached into my bag for the cell phone to check the time and I realized the red record button was on.  I did not know what to do.  I decided to leave it alone.  On our way out, I reached in and tried to stop it.  Suddenly I hear faint voices coming from my bag.  Fortunately, by this time Miss K. was talking the whole time, walking ahead of me.  In addition there were other conversations that drowned my recorder.  I reached  into my bag and tried to stop it, but I swear I don’t know what happened,  the recorder would not stop.  It was as if it was possessed.  I became very nervous.  All I kept saying, “yah right.” in response to her so that she does not become suspicious.  I finally fumbled for the battery and removed it.  Thank God I did not try to stop the recorder while I was in her office.  This would have definitely put a damper on the whole interview.
• I definitely learned a lot from this experience.  Observation was the key to understanding the people involved with the Kitchen.  However, I believe that one has to go several times to capture a realistic picture.  This is but a tiny slice in the world of information waiting to be discovered.
• I will definitely try to establish contact with the Hot Team.  I just don’t know how my family will think of this-me literally chasing the homeless in a white van.  At this point I feel I can do anything.

Interview prep for Soup Kitchen

I am scheduled to meet with Miss K, a case worker in the Camden Cathedral Kitchen on Monday March 21, 2011.   I found the kitchen online.  I called and she agreed to meet with me.  My initial impression of her was that she was direct and ‘tight-lipped’.  She was quick to inform me that her time is limited.  I imagined this would be a tough interview,  one where I would have to drag out the interview.  It would be awful if the interview became restricted to a question and answer session.  There aren’t enough questions in the world that can make such an interview succesful.  I will have to find ways to open the conversation, eventually leading it to a friendly and mutual exchange.

According to Post Modern Interview edited by Jaber F. Gubrium and James A. Holstein ,  “Interviews are special forms of conversation…free-flowing informational exchanges…interactional.” (67).  I plan to establish a social encounter with Miss K, where she opens up the discussion to give me a glimpse of her work life at the Kitchen.  I would like this to be an active interview,  “a dual interest in the hows and whats of meaning production.” (68).  I want to know how she  interacts is with the people who come to the Kitchen, how she came to work for this establishment, what kind of clients they see and so on.

One way to approach this is to share my support for what they do and my soft spot for homeless people.  Maybe I’ll even share my experience at the homeless shelter to help establish a connection.  I want her to share her thoughts and feelings about the poor.  I hope to find things in common with Miss K.  I realize this requires personal exposure from my end, and I intend to that to “optimize cooperative, mutual disclosure and a creative search for mutual understanding” (72).

My preliminary research helped establish the spring-board  from where the interview can flourish.  Founded in 1976, the kitchen has grown to be the largest emergency food provider in the city.  I look forward to the experience and hope to gain a birds eye view of the people who come to the Kitchen.  Visiting the Kitchen is essential to my research  because i get to see the homeless out of the homeless shelters. I hope to be surprised and challenged.

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.”

Things That Talk

 

The class discussion on Tuesday March 8th centered around the book Things That Talked. Professor Wolff posed the question “how do things define our culture?”  Although it was a simple question; nevertheless, it triggered deep thought into what defines us as a people.

Things with thingness encourage interaction, embodies values and culture and tends to have a rich history.  So how do we analyze things with thingness?  For one it has to be intriguing, or embody social issues such as poverty, economy, race, class, gender, politics, education etc.

Chapter 5 opens with a group of archaeologists who discover a replete of bones in a tomb.  They debated who the bones belonged to only to finally decide to send them to the best laboratory in the Soviet Union.  The identity of the bones arrived shortly thereafter.  When asked how they were able to make the identification, the laboratory responded with: “he confessed.”

This example was the one that resonated the most with me in terms of “things with thingness.”  For the Harper’s assignment I hope to find an object that holds meaning.