Street livin"

Street Livin'

Man it was cold, you never think of Los Angeles being so cold…most concepts are beaches and Disneyland...hands were numb with nerves chirping now and then. Now the line seemed endless and lines seemed to be part of any process you went through...some looked back with gray tombstones in their eyes others carried on lively conversations many times with no one to be seen...even with the cold and your nose numb from the cold there were wafts of funk from unwashed clothes and bodies and belongings carried by whatever means...you never truly acclimate, you tolerate and hope to ignore, such is street livin'..
There was a temperature threshold where the city opened up old unused city buildings (maybe federal too) and set up sleeping shelters no doubt in response to the homeless who were frozen to death in New York and was splashed across the papers rather than just accepted as an "oh well, there were homeless".
As we stood in line, this being far from a social club, maybe there was one or two people I saw that gave the slightest acknowledgement, a nod, a slight look or recognition, once in a while a short conversation and you may let them join you in line knowing full well you'd have a riot on your hands for giving "cuts," if fate were on your side no one may even notice. After what seemed an eternity, and the thought of gangrene setting in, the line began to move…never really got used to lines...not enough herd instinct instilled within. The desperation wheter overt or just under the surface was simmering and sometimes palatable, hopelessness is an abyss that forever looms about hoping to swallow you.The line began to move...AND THE SLOW TRUDGE BEGAN!
Sometimes it moved so fast as to almost negate the long wait in line or at an uneven pace, usually to make sure there were enough sleeping spots or some incident occurred which went with the territory to stop the trudge in its tracks..
It was an older building, always was, with the lack of any trappings of personality as most city buildings tended to be, but ones concern was to get shelter from the biting cold, not the decor or type of design or it it was ready for the Smithsonian museum.
On the uncommon occasion, you may get an orange, cookies, crackers, or a sandwich of dubious makings, the greetings of a county jail lunch. But more the case you went to bed hungry, some may have made a mission dinner, that being no guarantee you'd be satiated and then you could miss the shelter line, at least the chances of you getting inside...you'd be given a blanket if it were an open floor with old army cots put out, moreso to keep others from absconding with the blankets, hence your nights sleeping blanket...the heat was almost never on, so even with the shelter of being inside the building that stinging yet numbing cold clung to you as if it was a part of you...a somber reminder of one helplessness at the time...your warmth was your blanket and in a sad sense your funk.
One of your first stops was the bathroom, and you could cut the funk with a knife...the sinks had people washing, using a piece of clothing to wash, called a ghetto bath and two-fold if you rinsed out some of your clothes causing chagrin to those wanting to get to the sinks and when the shoes came off it became a battle of odors between that and use of the commodes, and the wait for the commode was not a delight either...making you hesitate to light a smoke fearing an explosion, but this was basic survival. Many would not want to smoke for the hazard of having to share with a bathroom of smokers, some became protective or even aggressive. When you don't really have anything you protect the little you do have as your last shred of dignity. You could wait for the commodes later if you were lucky, but if you needed to relieve yourself you had little choice. And coming back later, the bathroom seemed like a vortex of water, dirt, funk, trash and whatever was strewn about, things than can make some snap.
What little belongings you had maybe in your pockets, or a bag, some did have shopping carts but usually would not avail themselves of these shelters as you couldn't bring them in and you already had, at the least your bedding already at hand and other belongings, anything from cans (to get recycling money) for clothes and things unknown. Seemed most that had carts stayed down where there were no usual retail businesses with the public coming and going moreso companies warehouses, so sleeping on the street wasn't noticed and you were out of public view to the joy of the city fathers..
However it might be done, once you were in your cot and as you slowly thawed out to the point where you could start to doze off, it seemed that by yelling or being prodded you were woken up early about 6 a.m. with an empty stomach and you were, if lucky given a shot at the bathroom, but more times than not you were escorted out the door...some would try to make it to some mission to eat...where the ones who got to get beds the night before usually got to eat or at least in line first...so you could battle the lines or just with a sad habit, go hungry. Mission sleep varied sometimes you would eat (many times after a sermon on one's wicked ways, or the more humanistic approach less fire and brimstone) and then get some of the limited bedding, simple bunk beds seemed to be the rule rather than the exception.
One mission had the quaintly called "electric chairs" which were unpadded wooden theater chairs that you could sit in all night, at least a bathroom was available, but you asked permission before you trotted off to one, again funk so strong as to assault even the most hardened olfactory senses. Needless to say the chair had places to sit which earned their nickname that gave you an odd understanding how a seat could be a lone device of torture.
When morning came about you walked...wandering around the downtown area which meant crossing many streets and a lot of waiting for lights to change, few places to sit and the chance to be asked to move along. Around city hall there was lawn and many stone walls and edging you could sit upon, long enough to rest and then move on before asked. On weekends nice people would come down with a car and hand out bagged lunches of a sandwich, orange maybe a cookie and were usually pleasant and not trying to convert you to anything. That could be the highlight of a Sunday afternoon.
There were times when you just couldn't find an indoor place to crash, at that time missions allowed people to sleep in front on the street try as you may. At that time missions allowed you to sleep in front and down the street. The only foot traffic was the homeless and therefore no complaints. Best you could do to make a quick makeshift be was to get some cardboard, break down a box and lay on it to stop the cold and hardness of the streets concrete. Then one night it happened there was a friend (as best defined in the streets) who had the piece of cardboard beside us, sort of a buddy system in case someone just went off out of nowhere. Getting comfortable was another version of the electric chairs. .exhausted, hungry and wired tired there was no comfortable position on a sheet of cardboard on a public concrete street and the cold still crept into your bones, one then understood why people used newspaper as a form of warmth. We heard something land next to us (this was before homeless people became some sort of sordid object to play pranks upon or violence. It was dark but it was cartons of cigarettes, not a lot sleeping on the sidewalk so as the cartons landed we grabbed as many as we could...about 4 apiece. Cigarettes were a currency, and we all smoked so you could get a little change, but hearts not hardened gave most away. When you got up and let the blood in your legs and limbs again circulate you would head off to walk again...
There was both crack and back tar heroin around, needless to say, poor areas had their other form of bondage besides poverty...that's another story...and some went to day job places as a means for some pocket change, if they could function, most was warehouse work so they didn't care how you looked and the day job company would drive you there, but you made little, the day job place made more than you and the warehouse owner or whoever got you for a pittance and avoided any benefits or taxes and if you wanted to cash their check there was always a fee at the local check cashing places. It was a catch 22, you didn't have a phone number to be reached at if you did apply for a job and you were never in what would be call job interview clothes or readiness and had no address to even put on the application. There were a few missions that helped but that was limited even then and was using an umbrella to stop an avalanche. So the abyss of despair was hoping you just jump in.

Usually it was an endless cycle day in day out, one day walking around the little retail stores that had wholesale too as a lot of warehouses, a lot of products from China, cheap toys and the knick knacks you could live without and tons of it, seemed that was a base for all small China goods that ended up repackaged as a major brand label or as a bargain but this was where you got it and didn't have to wait for it to come by container on a ship some might call them cheap junk stores, but in actuality we today see a lot of their items on our shelves, just repackaged.
One day down from Central downtown L.A. and walking where there were warehouses and a few SRO hotels which were single-room occupancy hotels, true skid row hotels, the rooms looked like a noir novel...sometimes you'd get vouchers for the rooms which were with those threadbare blankets that had the little fringe on the ends on bed that squeaked and groaned usually metal with spots of rust and sometimes stuff scratched into the metal. Or old wood frames carved to death by past occupants. On rare occasions there were still Murphy beds, they only that pulled down from a closet and squeaked and rattled as you pulled them out and always slammed to the floor as the springs on the door had well seen better days. You see something out of the corner of your eye...if you were lucky just roaches...mice perhaps or both. Towels that were rags at best and sheets stained beyond imagination but always had that bleach smell if you were lucky enough to get clean ones otherwise that musty funk that always over rides anything...a desk and maybe dresser drawers that even a thrift store would reject and usually carves with various names and symbols...peeling paint or wallpaper and usually some type of water stain and even crumbling damage and a small gaping hole in the wall. A bulb in the ceiling…a bare bulb. Now this is at best, there is even worse that what I have written, usually a lobby with true makings of another era where it once might have been grand, as downtown L. A. was the place back in the late 30 and 40's now a shamble of itself and skid row denizens lounged about, a Fellini-surreal touch as you looked around.
Some people there were just released from prison and given vouchers for so long, then off into the street, it was a cycle that seemed to be accepted and part of the system. Hope was a commodity that was crushed by despair the ruling commodity.
Life indeed is stranger than fiction. In hindsight whoever owned those hotels and there were many, at that time made a killing, no upkeep or improvements and the transients that stayed were hesitant to complain only within the the little group of themselves, if at all. You were just a head count to make some big easy money, live or die there were more where you came from.
I digress, as we were walking some warehouse workers and a few customers you'd see, and many other homeless aimlessly walking to make sure that you wouldn't get rousted by the cops. They cruised around and would be ready to pull up and stop you, so you walked as not to be loitering. People called "5 oh" sometimes someone would whisper or acclaim that as a warning cops were around. So down the streets we walked then all of a sudden there was the sound of massive gunfire and we could see smoke several blocks up. You didn't know whether to hit the ground but everything seemed to be moving along most in congruence to the commotion we were hearing...people still walked, business still continued and as others headed down the street we saw one street blocked off with a few cops standing there but not stopping foot traffic, just the cop car blocking access to the street. So heading up the street, gathered around one building was smoke and what looked like cop cars... some looked to be smoking and it looked like there were big vans and 20th Century Fox containers too and cable and wires heading up the street and a generator was running. Then there were cops in swat gear but they were drinking coffee and talking...one guy walked by and we asked him, was there a robbery or something, he smiled and said, oh no we are filming.....Predator 2...which we did watch from a distance and no one hassled us but we kept quiet and just watched...there was gunfire and a few cars were driven down the street..........and that was the highlight of the day. We just continued on as a crowd was starting to form and knew the real cops would be by to break it up soon.....
So there was an idea of living on the street in that area...from what I understand, it seemed all cites are doing this, moving the homeless from the commercial area and greater downtown to the more industrial areas to make them more invisible, again that's like a band-aid for an amputation. They are not trying to help anyone become stable just almost create a sub-class of "untouchables" in America...they have made it illegal in many cites to feed the homeless as shelters and mission can not deal with the growing homeless population...it is only through compassion and being there for our fellow man.