Introduction
*MR. WENDELL*
by TW Santoro
No one ever knew his name/ Cause hes a no one/ Never thought twice bout spendin on an old bum/ Till I had the chance to really get to know one.
Arrested Development, 1992
How do they get there? Why sleep under the overpass? How do they ever stay warm and survive? Arent there shelters they can go to? Why dont they just get a job?
Obvious questions, but not so obvious answers. Its something Ive seen first-hand growing up and personally, but not for the reasons you might think. As a kid, I always had a pillow to lay my head on at night, which was always warm in the winter, cool in the summer. My parents always had plenty of food and water provided for my siblings and me. My parents never once used alcohol or drugs. Two of the three of us kids graduated from private high school and attended a private university. I was provided for and given every head start in the book for what they say is needed for kids to grow up into successful adults.
But I am an exception. I attended and graduated public high school and attended a state university. I have always been the odd duck in the family. Unlike every family member I have, Im the only one whos homeless. And the perception of most people is that the homeless are all uneducated dropouts who have alcohol or drug addiction issues. Sure, those problems do contribute to the chronic homelessness many of us face. But the reality is that you cant paint that broad of a brush stroke.
My homelessness problems began when I lost my son to suicide. I have written before that he was too little to see the big picture and that he didnt see how his suicide would paralyze me even to this day. Everyone has a story, and everyone is fighting different battles we have no understanding of. And for me to be able to get out from my current situation and into a better place, many things have to happen.
Youd think that all it takes to not be considered homeless is to have a place to sleep, bathe, and eat. First, though, youve got to find employment somewhere and have money coming in. Then, you need someone willing to rent or lease to you. How many lease or job applications have you seen that havent wanted either your last three residences and your last three job references, which many of us do not have? And maybe employers are reluctant to hire those either on the streets or those fortunate enough to be in shelters because people dont want to spend time and resources in hiring and training us for the job when we could very possibly be here one day and gone the next.
I know several guys who have chosen to live life outside. I have repeatedly tried yet consistently failed to convince one friend of mine to come back to the shelter. He said he prefers it this way. He was tired of all the rules, the people, the mandatory chapels, and an early curfew, or not having a later curfew.
You name it as far as excuses go. And when I talk to him, alcohols on the breath between us. He doesnt see it. He doesnt get it. Ive told him, Here you have everything you need: shelter from the elements, food, showers to use at any time and free soap, free laundry facilities and detergent. Here youll never be hungry, never be in fear of being jumped on, beaten up, or robbed of the valuables you have.
He sees his life outside as freedom and has deluded himself that he is, in a convoluted way, free. Whether its a mixture of chemicals or just hopelessness, hes given up on being anything greater in his life. Its too deep a hole for him to climb out of.
They say that in order for someone to love and care for you, you must first love and care for yourself. That, sadly, is the mindset of those least affected by homelessness. Why should I donate, help out, or volunteer if they wont even help themselves become independent and reputable members of society? Well, I hope the following pages will give you some insight into the world of the homeless population, the struggles, temptations, and mindset that some of us have. And I trust your heart will be warmed, enlightened, and motivated to help.
Very truly yours,
TW Santoro
Chapter 1
An Unknown Frontier
In February 2010, I was living in the middle of the great recession. This came about because of the biggest bank collapse since the Great Depression. It is only the second year of the Obama administration, and my mother, who was alive then, never thought that she would see the day when an African American would be elected to the highest office in the nation. Her health was getting progressively worse before she was to leave to have back surgery. She was suffering with vertigo and wasnt able to drive her car over the past several months. Mom had six children from her first husband, which included five boys and a girl, and a stepdaughter and stepson from her current marriage. This woman had countless number of back surgeries since 1972 that included having four disc removed from her back after a fall down the stairs when they collapsed off a portable trailer used for a classroom when she was teaching summer school.
Doctors had told her that she was going to need to have this surgery or risk the chance of losing her ability to walk again. Mom didnt want to do it again after having nine surgeries on her back, rotator cuff, and both knees replaced. She was very adamant about going under the knife again. She told me, Leroy, I really dont want to have this surgery, and I dont think Im going to do it. I told her that if she didnt want to do it, then she shouldnt. I didnt care if I had to work eight jobs. If she needed a mobile chair, then Id do that, but she shouldnt do it if she wasnt comfortable about it. She replied, Im not going to get in that thing, but I just want this pain to end.
