Voices from the Street

My mother was a beautiful person. She was like me; she took care of people. She did a lot for the public school system and the Boy Scouts. I made a point a long time ago to take care of my mother like she took care of me. When you think about it, when you were born, your mom and dad were working, and they still had time to take care of you. So why is it that when they become old, you can't take care of them like they took care of you? So I made a promise to myself–I am going to take care of my mother and my father just like they took care of me. Having the opportunity to help wash my mother like she did when I was a baby - I would do that. Telling her that put a smile on her face.

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My father was abusive. He beat my mom. Whenever he would beat my mom, I would try to stop it. He gave her money to take care of us, but he would still be messing around.

A major event in my life was the day my father got shot. He got killed by his girlfriend. I will never forget that day, that morning. My father, my mother, and I were all in the kitchen eating pancakes. I cannot remember no other time when my father and I were sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast together. It was kind of something weird because it was quiet, and he kept looking at me. And I was looking at him. We didn’t say much. And when he finished; I got up and said ‘I gotta go. I will see you guys later.’ My father got up to leave too. That night he got shot. His girlfriend, the woman who shot him, said that he had tried to break into her house. She got away with it. You see, my father was drunk and that’s why I told myself then that I would never cheat on my wife or my girlfriend. And I never have.

I loved to cook. I learned how to cook from my mother. She said, “Imma teach you everything a woman knows how to do except how to have a baby.”

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A while back I got a job at the Gandy Dancer. They hired me as a dishwasher, but I told them I could cook. They said ‘We are gonna hire you as a dishwasher first.’ The night they hired me, they ran out of bread. So the chef told me, ‘I need you to make me some bread.’ So I made the bread, and I never went back to washing dishes again. I made all the sauces there. I made all the soups, I made the bread. I cooked the meat. I kept the wait staff happy. When they came back to the kitchen, I would take their orders and make them stuff to eat.

One day I got hurt while working there. One of the female wait staff needed more napkins, towels, and tablecloths, which were stored up in the attic. I was a good guy; I wasn’t going to have that woman go up there and walk on the beams. I almost made it back, but I slipped and fell and my leg went through the attic floor. My leg was dangling from the ceiling. I was dangling there! Someone came to the office looking for me; they asked ‘are you okay?’ and I said, ‘Yeah, I am ok.’ But I wasn’t okay. When I got home that night, my leg was huge. It was swollen like a balloon.

The Gandy Dancer did not want me to sue them for my injury, so they had me sign this piece of paper saying I wouldn’t. They said that they would take care of me; they would pay my medical bills. So I signed. They paid for my operation and rehab. And to this day, my leg feels like it did not really even have damage.

When I went to see if I could get my job back, the chef said, “Oh! You’re the one who fell through the attic?!” And everyone in the kitchen… looked at me. He said “Uh, I don’t think we can hire you.” I think they were afraid to hire me. Maybe they were afraid that I would fake getting hurt or say I got hurt so I could sue them. I don’t think they wanted to take that chance.

I was a care provider for a while. And it wasn’t about the money. I just wanted to make people feel wanted. Sometimes people are in that situation, and no one will come visit them. They have a homecare provider but they don’t really talk to them. They really treat them wrong. They let them stay in the bed all day in their own waste.

One person I worked for, he was in a car accident; so his family asked me if I would move in and assist for 24 hours. And they paid me $300 a week. He had a big old hole in his bottom. So one day the doctor and nurse came over to show me how to change his dressings because I had to clean his pressure ulcer and wrap it back up and everything. He went to the doctor, and the doctor asked him, ‘who wrapped this [wound]?’ It looked like a professional job. And he said that my careworker did it. The doctor told him that I did a really good job.

Camp Take Notice (CTN) was a self-governing, grassroots tent community of people experiencing homelessness located in Ann Arbor. The camp offered an “alternative approach to the traditional government and private systems that provide shelter and basic resources for the homeless. CTN’s emphasis on community among camp members and faith-based organizations was what set it apart from other services.” However, CTN was disbanded by the Michigan Department of Transportation in 2012.

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I was working at the time, and one of my friends was staying at Camp Take Notice. I went to visit him one day; there were 10 people living there at the time. He told me if I ever needed a place, I could come there. They provided tents and sleeping bags, and no one would bother you there. Two weeks later I lost my job, so I went to stay at CTN.

The first night they gave me a small tent. The next day I met Peggy, a local CTN supporter and homeless advocate. I learned that Peggy was helping supply things to the camp, including food. So I volunteered to help. I told Peggy about my situation, and she said that I could stay there.

No one initially knew that the camp was there. Somehow the news found out–Ann Arbor news, TV stations. They wanted to interview people. So Peggy found me and said, ‘I want you to speak for the camp. I want you to say some words.’ So I did. I knew she was a lawyer, so I was amazed she thought I spoke well. During that time I got close to Peggy, and we became kinda like friends. We are better friends now than then.

The Michigan Department of Transportation made us move out of the camp. They gave everyone a year's housing voucher. During that time, Peggy wanted me to speak at city council meetings to tell them about the homeless here in America. I will never forget; I was so nervous. I told the council to not be prejudiced against the homeless. Any one of us can be homeless. I don’t understand why we are the richest country in the world, yet we have homelessness in America. We would rather throw food away than give it to someone who really needs it. We would rather spend billions of dollars to go to space rather than taking care of the homeless. If we took care of people here in America, we would have no problem helping the rest of the world. But how can we help the rest of the world, if we cannot take care of people in America?

For me, homelessness means you don’t have a place to stay. You don’t have a stable place to go. You could be working. You could have a job. But you don’t have affordable housing. You don’t have someplace where you can go home. You don’t have enough money to feed yourself. That’s what I think homelessness is.

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Homelessness made me a stronger, more appreciative person. A student volunteer at Mercy House came up to tell me that I was the most optimistic person she had ever met. I told her, thank you so much. I’ve learned that we ain't gonna be here forever. I am not gonna spend my time on earth being mad or angry at nobody. I am going to have a smile on my face and hopefully I can live until maybe 100, 110 so I can have my face on a Smucker’s jar.

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One time, I met an older woman downtown while I was living at Camp Take Notice. I was talking with her, and everything was good until some of my camp friends came up to me looking all raggedy and smelling like smoke. They spoke with me and they left. And then she looked at me and asked, ‘How do you know those people?’ Those people? I looked at her and said ‘I am one of those people. I live at the same camp they do. I am sleeping outside in a tent just like they are.’ And she looked at me. And I wanted to say to her– ‘why, is it because I don’t look homeless? Because I try to keep myself up? I don’t dress like a bum?’

If you walk around like you don’t care about yourself, how do you expect other people to care about you? I never smelled, I wasn’t smelly. She looked at me like–you don't look like you’re homeless. That kind of confirmed that you never know what people are.

There’s a lot of other spots that are prejudiced against people who are homeless; they don’t want to have nothing to do with them. Or some of the churches say you can stay here at night, one night, and give you a couple peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. But that’s it, then you’re on your way. Mercy House gives you the opportunity to make you feel like you are needed, you are wanted, you are here for a reason. People fill you with self esteem. You can do laundry there. It is friendly. You can relax for a while. It is peaceful and you can get your thoughts together.

I believe that in anything in life, if you believe in the Lord, in any situation He puts you in, you have the tools and ability to handle it. It’s all how you handle it. It’s all how you look at it. You could say, ‘well I am homeless, I am not gonna be about nothing; I am gonna go down.’ When it is storming outside, it’s cloudy, it's raining, it’s thundering. Maybe it goes on for a few hours. But then what happens? It stops. The sun comes out again. That’s how life is sometimes. If you go through things, it all depends on how you handle it. It’s not going to last forever; you will get out of it. You won’t be in that situation forever. This is only temporary. The way I handle it, I have to handle it in a positive way. I am not going to be in this situation forever. I am resilient!

David appears in these videos about Camp Take Notice:

When I was 7 years old, my mom and dad took me to go live in the jungle for three years. My dad owned land but was cheated and lost a lot of money, so that’s why he moved us to the jungle because you don’t spend money there. My parents grew corn and chiles. I was happy in the jungle, because I had all kinds of animals. One time, I saw a tiger. My mom and dad were out in the cornfield, and they left me in our little hut alone. The tiger came by our hut; I was so scared. I grabbed a blanket and covered myself and peeked from under the blanket. I peed in my pants. 

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When I was living in the jungle with my mom, dad, and brother, we walked from 4 or 5 o’clock in the morning to go buy some groceries–some sugar, some chiles, whatever. We had to walk all day long and would come back at night. I was scared so bad because you never knew what the journey would be like. 

When I was 10, my family moved to the town of Nong Chang. My mom got pregnant, and she did not want the kid; she wanted to get an abortion. I overheard her conversation with the doctor– “Well, you are 5 or 6 months along; you may both die, mother and baby, if you get an abortion.” I begged my mom– “Don’t kill the baby, I don't want both of you to die. I will take care of it.” My mom asked me, “Will you quit school?” and I told her yes. So, I quit school and took care of my brother when he was a baby.

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My dad could do anything–fix motorcycles, repair guns, fix bicycles–by himself. When I was 15 or 16, my dad got in trouble. He was doing gun repairs but had no license. He went to jail. When my dad went to jail, my relationship with my mom worsened. She tried to beat me up. She said all kinds of things. “You wanna be a b****? You wanna be a whore?” She said all kinds of things, not good things. I didn’t want that. I ran out. I ran away from her. 

At that time, I was selling fruit in a bus station. There was a guy who really liked me [at the bus station]. His name was Sak. But I didn’t like him. I was a kid! So, I asked Sak to stay with him [because I had nowhere to go]. That guy was crazy about sex. And I really don’t know anything about this, you know? He took me and went to rub me. I have no idea how to get out. I didn’t want to go back home because my mom always said bad words [to me]. 

I stayed with Sak in Pattaya, a tourist city with a nearby beach. Sak worked as a construction worker there and always had sex with me. Always, always. I wanted to get away from him. But I couldn’t because I didn’t know where I was. I never got out of the house. One day, I found out that Sak stole clothes. I found out and told myself, “He is not a good man.”

My dad’s mother, my grandma, died, and she came to talk to me [in my mind]. She told me to get away from this guy; he’s not a good man. She was worried about me. She told me to get out of there very fast. I thought ‘I will be sweet with him, I will say, honey, I go buy cigarettes, you need something?’ But instead, I went to the police station and explained to them that he had stolen clothes. Later, the police came and took Sak to jail. He did not know that I had gone to the police; I had to protect myself. The police asked me where the clothes were. I showed the police everything. And I stayed by myself for a while. 

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I would go [sell sex] to tourists from all over the world. I would not go [do sex work] with every man, no, I love myself too much. I felt bad when men would molest me. I felt yucky, you know.

Sometimes I wanted to [exchange sex for money with men] because I had no money and only two years of education. When I came out of the jungle, I went to school. But I didn't learn much because my brain had been damaged from so many things– my brothers died; I'd been molested. So many things. But I’m lucky because I have my grandpa to help me out. He is my grandpa, Shiva. He opened my ear to hear whatever he says to me. 

One evening in December when I was 25, a car ran over me. The German guy who was driving–he was drunk. When I was on my back with the tire on top of me–my mind whispered, ‘Shiva [Deity in Hinduism/Buddhism], the tire is coming for my head!’ The first tire had already missed, running over my leg and back. The other tire was coming–my mind screamed: ‘Shiva, Shiva, what can I do?’ He told me to move my head to the left side. The second tire also missed.

Shiva tried to help me. He sent me to sleep, but my ears still listened. I was taken to the hospital. They checked X-rays–nothing was broken. No bones, no bleeding–nothing! I had a small scab, but that was all!

I met my ex-husband at a bar in December 1992. He had come to Thailand on vacation but worked as a medic in the US Army Special Forces. I don’t know what happened, but I liked this man so much–I have no idea why. I saw him again the next time he came to Thailand in 1993, when he was training American and Thai soldiers. 

We did not have a wedding ceremony, but my ex did buy a beautiful pink wedding dress made with Thai silk that I wore for pictures. I did not tell my mom and dad that we got married or that he bought me the dress. I didn’t want them to see; they’d think it was too expensive. 

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We were married in 1993. In 1994, I moved with him to Okinawa, Japan. In Okinawa I cooked Thai food to sell to the soldiers in the barracks–shrimp fried rice, beef fried rice. Then in 1995, I moved to the United States, to Tacoma, WA, where we stayed with my ex-husband’s mother. My son was born in 1995; my daughter in 1996. I also sold food in Tacoma, but whatever I would earn my ex would take away from me. I fought with him all the time. He became more tight, tight, tight with money. 

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My ex would get drunk and mad often. I would stay up all night because he was crazy and physically abusive to me. I never knew what he would do to me or the kids. Sometimes I would not brush my teeth or shower because I was so tired; I would forget to take care of myself because I was worried about so many things.

We got a divorce in 2004. I moved out and went to live at the YMCA shelter with my kids. I slept in the same room as my children; I slept on the floor and my kids slept in the bed. In less than a year, I moved into new housing. I did my best to care for my children.

On October 2, 2009, I had a stroke. At that time, I had so many problems in my head–I was trying to go to school and trying to work two jobs. I had one job working in an Indian gas station cooking food and another job as a housekeeper cleaning. 

That day, I had taken my daughter with me to work cleaning. I started having a problem with my hand. Initially I thought it was from the cleaning chemicals. I would go to grab something, and the object would fall from my hand. I had no energy. I tried again and again, 5 or 6 times. 

I thought–something has happened to me, but I did not want to tell my boss. At that time, I did not know what was going on, so I drove home. When I was driving home, my right side stopped working; I could not break. I thought back to when I was run over by the car when I was 25 years old, and I thought–it’s come back! I hit the shed in my backyard because I couldn’t break, but I didn’t care. I felt so tired and went upstairs to go to sleep.

A few minutes later my daughter came to my room and said there was a security man knocking on our door who wanted to talk to me. He asked me for ID and said he was going to call the police. When the police came, they asked, “Ma’am, what happened to you?” I told them what happened, and they said, “you are having a stroke!” I stood up and then immediately fell down. So, they called an ambulance. 

I stayed one month in the hospital. I could not move. I had to poop and pee on the bed. I was only able to look at the ceiling. 

My friend and neighbor across the street helped me out; they helped care for my kids because I didn’t trust my ex. After a while, I started to do physical therapy exercises. I started walking, squeezing with my hands–all kinds of things. And I got a little better although my kids went to live with my ex after the stroke. They left because my ex had money, and my kids did not want to stay with their poor mother.

In 2019 we moved to Michigan, but things got complicated living with [my friend and her son], so I decided to leave; it would be better to be homeless and free. So, I started staying at Delonis on November 7, 2021. I initially slept on the floor, then I was able to get a bed on the fourth floor after a couple of weeks. I stayed at Delonis for about 4 months until I got my apartment on Feb 25, 2022.

I have let my suffering go. Grandpa says: “you have to let everything go. Because everything does not belong to us. When we die–what do we have?” Just open your heart and do whatever you can.

My grandpa says: “Don’t wait for no one. Just keep going on and on and on. If you do good things, the good things will come back to you.”

I want to write my story down. I want to write it in all kinds of languages. To help people out. When I get rich, I am going to do good things for whoever needs help. 

I’ve worked all my life since I was 13 years old. My first job was as a dishwasher at Piper’s Restaurant on Joy Road in Detroit. Then I was a baker at Hamilton Meat Pie Company, where I made pasties. I worked there for about 10 years. Then they went all automatic, so I went from working the oven to working in the freezer. After a while, they didn’t need me no more.

I then managed two gas stations for 5 years. I also did a lot of construction. My buddy John and I would do cinder block walls. I saw him fall from the scaffolding 25 feet up, and he died immediately. He was my best friend.

At around the same time, my grandmother died. That’s the first time I see my father cry. I was 21 years old when she died. My grandmother was a special person in my life. She lived in the upstairs apartment in our duplex in Dearborn and would always take me to Hudson’s downtown to go shopping. When I was sick, she would bring me Sucrets lozenges and take care of me.

Losing my friend and grandmother in the same year drove me to start drinking heavily. I lost faith in God. Drinking helped me stop thinking about losing them. That’s the only thing I liked about it. I was mad at God for taking both my best friend and my grandmother. “Why did He take my good people away from me?”

I met my sweetheart, Donna, in high school. She lived right across the street from me. One day, I asked if I could carry her books home for her. That’s how it all started.

We began dating and graduated high school together. I found out that she was being molested by her stepfather, so I had to kick his a** and move her out. I got arrested for that–assault and battery on a person.

We moved to Oakman apartments when we were 18. We have been together ever since. Donna and I moved from place to place in Michigan–to Detroit, to Ypsilanti. We had one son together, Tim, who was born December 21, 1992.

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I started getting tickets for drunk driving. I also got busted for home invasion because I needed the money. I got sentenced and had a tether on my leg. A guy I was working with wanted me to join him in Arizona; so I decided to go with him to find work. I cut my tether off; I did not like my probation officer anyway.

I lived apart from Donna for 10 years while I was in Arizona. I would still call her every morning. I was homeless and lived underneath a parking garage there, sleeping on cardboard. I got into smoking crack; I think because that’s what the people I was hanging out with were doing. I would also steal aluminum because it was good money. I was stabbed while I was living there; people would drive up in cars to rob the homeless people. When you’re sleeping outside, you have to get drunk to be able to fall asleep.

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I ran into a guy who wanted to buy heroin; so we made a deal. I would buy heroin for him because I knew where to get it, and in exchange, he would give me a job working for him. I traveled around with him building playgrounds at McDonalds. We would work at night while the McDonald’s was closed. It was so cool because we had a free run of the whole place.

Then I went to jail for 5 years for receiving and concealing stolen property in Arizona. I stole a lathe and pawned it. When I was released from prison, I came across a streetwalker who I didn’t know, who told me that Donna was dead. I had not been in contact with her during this time; so I got worried and returned to Michigan. Donna was sick, so I came back to take care of her. She had Type 1 diabetes, and it caught up with her. She had to get both a kidney and pancreas transplant. She had dementia, too.

When I got back to Michigan, I was arrested as I had outstanding arrest warrants. Fortunately, the judge dismissed all charges against me since it had been over 12 years since I had been in the state.

Donna’s mother came to stay with us in Ypsilanti. I did not like her too much, but that’s mother-in-laws you know. She treated Donna like s***. When all of the stuff was going on when Donna was being molested by her stepfather, she did not do nothing; she did not believe Donna or anything. It really pissed me off. That’s why I had to step in and do something.

Donna’s medical problems worsened. She was admitted to the hospital; her kidneys were failing, and I think she may have had cancer too. We got a call from the doctors saying “you better get your a** up here; she ain’t gonna make it.” So Tim and I went up there. I spent a couple of nights with her. I was not gonna let her die in the hospital. Hospice gave us a bed to bring home to our apartment in Ypsilanti. I took the couch we had in the living room down to the basement and put her bed in the front room. I took care of her, cleaned her. And I layed with her for the rest of her life. She stayed with us at home for a week and a half until she passed on April 21, 2016.

I had to wake up Tim to tell him the news. He was only 23 years old. That’s why he still keeps in touch with me– I’m the only family he’s got.

When hospice came to collect her body, I did not want them disrespecting her. I made them comb her hair and put on a nice dress. I made sure she looked good before they took her away.

When Donna passed, she told me she wanted to be cremated. I still have her ashes because I already told Tim that when I die, I also want to be cremated so that he can spread Donna’s and my ashes together. I really don’t care where. I would want my ashes dispersed up North, tell you the truth, but I don’t think Donna would like that.

Donna was on Section 8 [HUD housing voucher program]. After she passed, my son Tim and I were evicted from her apartment. The apartment was not in my or Tim’s names, and Donna and I hadn’t legally married. Then, from what I hear, they had a garage sale on the front lawn of all our stuff. You wouldn’t believe the stuff I left there–our washer, dryer.

Tim stayed with his girlfriend, and I went to crash at Delonis. But, back then, Delonis used to require a breathalyzer test upon entry. If you blew numbers, they would not let you in. I always blew numbers, so I ended up sleeping on the streets, in the park, parking lots, or parking garages around Ann Arbor. You just have to watch where you sleep–there are idiots out there who want to hurt and rob you.

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At the beginning of the pandemic I went back to Delonis. I hated it there. Then I got the opportunity to join the shelter in rotation at the AARC. This church (AARC) was so nice as well as all the volunteers. I prayed to God every day. Every morning and every night. And I prayed for the volunteers, too. I prayed for the whole church for everything. I had never been so blessed in my entire life.

A couple years ago I started the tradition of releasing two balloons into the sky on the day my wife Donna died. I signed Tim’s and my name on the balloons. I whispered to her ‘we love you, we miss you,’ then let the balloons go. I watched the two balloons drift up into the clouds. I know Donna is in Heaven; so I cannot screw up anymore. She ain’t gonna meet me in Hell, and I want to be back with her. We were together for 35 years, and believe me, I miss her so much. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t think about her.

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My parents passed away ten years ago. My father passed first. I went to see my father and he told me ‘I love you, now go kick a**.’ After he passed, I went to see my mother. I knew she wouldn’t last long. They were married for over 50 years. She would still sit in her chair and talk to my dad. She passed in her sleep not long after my dad died. She is buried right next to my dad, which is cool.

I’d rather pass in my sleep, too. I don’t want to wake up dead. I don’t want to be in pain or nothing. Unless I am at the mortuary–I’d wake up and ask ‘where’s the bar?’

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I’ve had a good life. I am not complaining about my life. If I had to do it all over again, there are a couple things I might change. Like drinking and smoking. Those are hard things to quit.

After graduating high school, I went to Western Michigan University for 2 years and was studying general ed. I wanted to be a sportscaster, like Bernie [Smilovitz] on Channel 4. I’ve always loved sports. I lettered in both baseball and football in high school. I lived in the athletic dorm and tried to make the Western Michigan baseball team and was the second to last one to make the cut.

My brother caught meningitis while I was in college and was at the University of Michigan hospital for 3 months. I stayed with him since both of my parents were working; I just slept there with my brother. I got behind on classes at Western and never went back.

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After that I lived in Houston and worked in the oil fields. My cousin called me up [for the job]; I left on Friday, got there on a Sunday, and I started work on a Monday. I worked for 15 to 16 dollars an hour. I was working in an oil refinery as a maintenance worker. I worked like a dog; 6am to midnight. My ex, my boy’s mom, had just gotten pregnant. I could have stayed here in Michigan and worked in a factory, but working in a factory is just, you are in one spot, it's repetitive all day. I couldn’t do that.

In Texas, I played semi-pro baseball. I played with guys who should have played ball in college. I took it seriously; I was very competitive. I was good at it–not bragging or nothing. I had a good arm. I probably drank a little too much and probably did a little too much speed at that time, but I went to work every Monday. I played four nights a week and then had tournaments every weekend. I would sometimes pull up to work in my softball uniform and go to the bathroom to change because I would play until the wee hours on Sunday then drive 2-3 hours back to Houston. I slept in my car a lot. It was fun though.

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When my ex left me in 1983 or 1984–this beautiful blonde woman with bright blue sapphires for eyes–I fell apart. I went to the bar and drank and drank and drank and then tried to drive home. I got into an accident and ended up in jail for a while. That experience completely derailed my life. I got into the party scene–cocaine, heroin–I burned through more money than you could believe on drugs, booze, and women.

I was in Houston for 11 or 12 years before I came back to Michigan in ‘93. I had to, otherwise I would have gotten killed over there. It got very bad. I was into drugs big time. I was bringing hundreds of pounds of marijuana to Michigan for my cousins. My cousin’s wife owned the only

weigh station in the Rio Grande Valley. Vehicles coming from Mexico would go through that weigh station; there were thousands of dollars worth of drugs coming through. I would pick up a vehicle and drive it up to Michigan or Iowa. I would probably drive twice a month and was paid $5000 a load. It was all marijuana. This was when the good marijuana was from Mexico during the 70s and 80s. When my cousins got into coke, I did not get into that. If you got caught with a lot of coke, you’d get a life sentence. Finally my dad told my cousins: “I don’t want Daniel doing that no more.”

Every morning I wake up and I think–I am a drug addict. It’s just hard. I’ve overdosed three times in my life. People around me are dying of an overdose all the time.

I’ve been doing drugs since I was 14 years old, starting out with coke. I did not start shooting up heroin until I was 50 years old. At the time I was staying with a girl in Toledo, OH, where I was working as a caretaker for a family, and she got me caught up in it. Once you shoot dope, you get a euphoria—a feeling that goes all through your body. It’s a really, really good rush. It’s hard to get away from that feeling once you experience it. When you withdraw from opioids you feel like you have the flu. I have gotten to the point where I would have to use it to just feel normal, to not feel sick.

I have been to rehab three times, twice in Toledo and once in Michigan. I am in an outpatient program right now with St. Joe’s. The meetings are on Zoom due to COVID, which is really hard for me to connect with. I really wish they had meetings in person.

A couple years ago, I got a needle stuck in my arm [while injecting]. I delayed going to the hospital; I was so embarrassed. I walked to the emergency room because my arm had swelled up.

A nurse–I don’t know where she was from or if she knew I was Hispanic or nothing, but all she did was talk about how the Mexicans got away with this and got away with that ….I almost said that you need to shut the f up, don’t you know I am 100% Mexican. And it was humiliating because the first thing the medical team asked was, ‘how did you get the needle stuck in your arm?’ Umm duh? Could you say it any freaking louder? Everyone could hear everything through those hospital curtains.

Then my doctor came in and scolded me like crazy. He said stuff like ‘Aren’t you too old to be using drugs?’ and stuff like that. I bit my tongue and took a good ass chewing. I talked to my nurse and told her I did not want that doctor to return to my room otherwise I would kick him out. I never saw him again during the week I was in the hospital. I needed surgery to remove the needle and IV antibiotics for the bacteria in my blood.

I had been working doing vinyl flooring and tiles until the COVID-19 pandemic began, and my boss was not able to pay me anymore. I had been staying at my cousin’s apartment, but he kicked me out. I went into work on a Monday morning, and he goes, ‘there’s a homeless shelter around the corner–why don’t you start staying there.’ And I was like– ‘what, what did you say?’ And he said, ‘yeah, the homeless shelter. You’ve been staying here long enough.’

Kicking me out of his house was the biggest favor my cousin could have done for me. I’m glad that happened. It woke me up a lot. I started sleeping at the Delonis Center, but I hated it. We were squished together like sardines, and the smell was unbearable–dirty socks, booze, and crusty men. As a light sleeper I couldn’t handle it. So I jumped at the opportunity to come join the rotating shelter at the Ann Arbor Reform Church. I met a lot of good people at AARC at the church and the volunteers. Being homeless, in a way, was a good experience for me–life is just about learning. Nothing is perfect. Take it as it comes.

I learned to cook from my mom. I went to school for 2 hours at Adrian High school then I’d get out early to help my mom. My mom worked as a teacher’s aide, so I’d end up working three hours of the day with her at the elementary school. I got high school credit for it. I would then go home while she was still working. She told me to chop this up, cut that up.

I helped my aunt and uncle with their catering company, too, off and on for thirty years. We got a lot of our products in Detroit at E&L Supermercado in Mexicantown. We would buy 100 lbs bags of beans and rice and then of course we would buy Mexican pastries.

…

When I was staying at the Ann Arbor Reform Church shelter, I volunteered to cook because I liked it. I wasn’t getting paid. I could go up there and get lost for hours. Cooking relaxes me; it is part of my therapy. I have been around food all my life, authentic Mexican food. I tell everybody, cooking is an art. Every cook is different. A lot of how you cook, which is kinda crazy, depends on what kind of mood you are in. Cooking can release endorphins. And I believe in that. It’s just how food is.

At the time, my ex was supposed to move down from Toledo to live with me. She was just lying through her teeth though. My friend called to say ‘hey man, she is staying with another dude; she’s dating another guy.’ So, I went through that s*** and I was like you know what, Gary and I kicked it. He was the first person I talked to at AARC, and we were the same age. We talked about Red Wing sports and stuff like that. We just kicked it and developed a friendship. And I thought, ‘maybe this guy would be a good roommate?’ And that’s what started the whole thing.

Ian connected us to Johnny from Avalon Housing. That man helped us a lot. He got the wheels going and boom! Before we knew it, in about 3 months we had a place. And there’s typically a waiting list for Section 8 housing vouchers for years. But we each got one and moved into an apartment in Ypsilanti.

Avalon Housing: https://avalonhousing.org/

I like helping people; I always have. We are basically running a halfway house here [at our apartment]. We’ve helped maybe 15 people over the past 2 years that we have been living here. People find out about us through word on the street, mostly because of me since I feed them. People will come through and ask me if I have anything to eat. So I will make them food even if it’s just a sandwich. Only takes a minute. Then we will sit here and watch a movie or something. And I’ll try to talk to them a little bit. I tell them about my life’s experiences, what happened to me, and about my drug addiction. I tell them that I still have problems with it. I will always be a drug addict. A lot of it has to do with who you hang out with. A lot of people [who use drugs] get lost because they don’t have no one to talk to. The way the system is right now, especially with COVID, a lot of institutions aren’t there for help. I think in the last 3 weeks, I have heard of three people who have passed away and there are two others in the hospital for overdose. It’s an epidemic, the fentanyl.

Looking back, I felt different than everyone else. At school, I was bullied and I was made fun of because I was different. The difference was that I was not the person matching the body. And then when I was a teenager, I realized I wanted to be a parent because I have this enormous amount of desire to provide a child all the things I didn’t get. I feel like as a neglected child, there are different ends of the spectrum – you're either going to continue the neglect, continue being an abusive parent, or you have an enormous amount of desire to be different from what you were given. And that was me. I wanted to be a parent to 30 kids and make their lives so much better. I think of the humans that I come in contact with as all of that. I realize that ‘a kid’ is just an age. There is no limit on the need to be shown something different from what they’re used to.

I was always hunting for people to be empathetic towards me…the outcast, the most vulnerable, the most colorful person. I was attracted to them and they were attracted to me. I felt good making others feel good about themselves.

I have a genuine understanding of what it's like to be abused, to have lived through all the yuckiness in the world. I have experienced all the yuckiness any human can suffer, so I know what it feels like. When you think of the worst parts of humanity, I have experienced it. True empathy is having experienced that yuckiness yourself. For me, empathy is having no judgment. Seeing someone and not judging them at all for anything.

After having a couple of years of mental breakdowns, not being able to function, and having suicidal ideation every day, I knew something had to change. But even taking the step to go to the hospital was super huge. I met a social worker at the hospital who had been doing that kind of work for years, so I felt very confident that she knew what she was talking about. She told me a few things that I will never forget and that have stuck with me: ‘It’s okay to love people from a distance; and that ‘I was a survivor and needed to be true to myself.’ I had never looked at myself as a survivor and a switch just clicked. It’s all about perspective–I had survived life’s tragedies. She changed my perspective.

I walked out of the hospital and gradually realized I had no one in my life to lean on. I had already cut off my communication with my family, for all the right reasons. My parents for sure. I felt that I needed to walk away from everyone and then reconnect with my uncle and grandmother. So, I just met this guy online and as this broken, vulnerable person, I fell for him because he was saying all the right things. I was living with him for almost a year and a half, and I didn’t go anywhere. I was psychologically and physically abused, which was scary.

While I was staying with this guy in Hyland park, I went to the doctor because I thought I had a sinus infection. I was sitting in the room and the doctor walked in, who doesn’t usually have the best bedside manner, and as soon as he touched my cheek I jumped off the table because it hurt so bad. And then came the questions and the tears. I am crying to the doctor, who showed me compassion in that moment, and made me get my jaw X-rayed, showing that I had a fracture. He helped connect me with people for help, and we would have conversations over the next few months about how to get out of my abusive situation. Every couple of weeks, if I had a few moments alone, I would call the [domestic violence] hotline. They’d just give me little pointers like, making sure I have a backpack. I was still completely scared to do anything.

On July 13, the same day as my grandma’s birthday, my abuser broke a lot of things that I owned, punched me, it was a big, ugly thing that turned into the last time [this would happen to me]. Once he left, I laid down by the exit door. At 12:30 at night, I heard him knock on the window–this was part of the psychological control, where he would knock on the window so I would have 30 seconds of fear before he walked into the apartment. So I heard the knock, jumped up and grabbed my little bag, and I ran out the door. I ran and ran and ran, almost 2 miles.

I met a woman at this 24 hour diner. She asked me ‘what's going on with you, honey?’ with this Southern accent and charm that was familiar and comforting to me. That was also the first time I said “Gracie” publicly out loud. And she told me to come see her tomorrow. I went in the next night after walking around all day. She offered for me to take a nap in her car while she worked, and handed me an envelope that had enough money to get me 4 nights in the motel across the street, that she and her co-workers had scrounged together.

That gave me hope. I did some gross things to maintain more motel space. I was daily calling the domestic violence shelter in the city of Wayne, and there were no beds available, no beds available. I struggled for 2 weeks at this motel. Then on Monday morning, I called the shelter and they had a bed open. So I took the city bus to Wayne, and that is when I went into the Domestic Violence shelter and spent 45 days there. I met this mom and 2 kids who wanted me to come live with her and nanny her kids while she worked. So I did that for a few months, before the guy she met didn’t want me around there anymore.

Then I met this couple in Ypsi who let me crash on their couch for a minute. This turned into a bad, yucky, unhealthy situation. I heard about Delonis, so I went there. I was super scared, nervous, and had a lot of anxiety. The couple of staff I met right away made me feel safe. A couple invited me to have lunch with them, and I did an intake and got a bed on the fourth floor within a week and a half, which was pretty quick. I think the shelter staff made me feel good and safe. Having the drive for a better life helped keep me going. I did what I had to do to stay in the shelter and take the steps to get things going for myself. I got inspired there.

…

I was bullied by several people while I was staying at Delonis to the point where they got kicked out of the shelter for their behaviors. I remember staying up at night crying to myself, thinking about all of the people who had been my bullies that were out in the freezing cold. I went crying to the director of Delonis to advocate that they lift the restrictions on these people. The director at the time made a point of letting my bullies know that they were being let back into the shelter because of me. I think that action changed them–they never treated me disrespectfully after that. I think they saw that I had acted out of compassion on their behalf and that changed how they acted towards me.

I was just at Delonis for a year. Most people do not stay 90 days. I think Delonis didn’t want to get rid of me–I had developed a really good rapport with staff there.

…

Everyone at Delonis would go to Peggy’s house (Mercy House) on Saturday mornings, so I started going, too. My initial thought when I met Peggy was what a beautiful person she is. The way the kitchen was set up was she would make the pancakes on the same side as [I would do dishes]. Her energy was very peaceful. I shared this very close space with her purposefully, to see her greet this house full of people and make them pancakes.

Gradually, over that time, my relationship with Peggy [grew]. There were a couple of moments when I felt that she respected and trusted me, like when she asked me whether I thought people were selling drugs out of her house or when she needed help with the Christmas party. So that’s how I got involved with Mercy House and my current role as house manager.

MissionA2 (Michigan Itinerant Shelter System-Interdependent Out of Necessity, a collection of community members providing food and communal space “for the community to come together to combat homelessness”) had owned the Purple House for many years before it closed temporarily. Two years ago in October 2020, I remember seeing this woman Tamara, who had severe schizophrenia and could not stay at Delonis, day in and day out in the cold and wet. I just felt that this is so unfair. As a board member of Mission A2, I had the idea to start a weather amnesty program at Purple House to provide shelter for people who are unable to stay at Delonis due to trauma, severe mental illness or addiction, etc. We would be picking up the slack in the system.

I had this idea, but I needed the help of 2 friends, Ben and Lindsay. They helped to make it happen. The three of us would alternate shifts, and we would be up all night from 6pm-8am. We would then go home and sleep a little bit then do it all again for many months [until the weather got better].

We need foot care because those basic services are so neglected. In my own personal experiences, when you are homeless and you’ve been walking in the same shoes, footcare is pretty important. When I got to Delonis, I had these ankle boots with worn down heels. It was really bad. But at that time, my toes were all curled up. They were wet. They were gross. I see that [foot problems] happen very commonly.

…

A lot of work needs to be done in the mental health area. Why is this schizophrenic woman wandering around the streets for two years? The system is off somewhere in that regard. There’s a crack in the road and these folks fall into that crack and cannot advocate for themselves. For example, there are quite a few people that are in this crack, and I have been on the end where I have called crisis teams in certain situations. [The crisis teams] are completely useless because they cannot do anything unless someone is presenting as a danger to themselves or others. But if someone is completely delusional– that’s dangerous. How is that not dangerous? People suffer as a result of that. A person who is completely delusional shows up to us in a police car every single night. How is that safe for anybody?

…

In terms of substance use treatment, it’s another vicious cycle, a revolving door. It’s another area where Purple House could be really helpful. There is a hole in the system, as a huge percentage of the homeless community with mental health issues, addiction, or a combination of both.

For example, say somebody is homeless and is ready for [addiction] treatment. They come to their case manager and say ‘I am ready. Get me a bed. I am ready to do it.’ The case manager says, ‘okay, we’ll call and make arrangements and get you a bed.’ Well, turns out there will be a bed available at X treatment center in 2 weeks. What are they supposed to do for 2 weeks? Go live on the streets, chase the drugs? You’re gonna lose them. They’re not gonna come back. They’re gonna change their mind. Their heart will be in a different place. They may end up in jail. They may end up dead. The list is endless.

And that is what I would like to see–a safe space for these people to go while they are waiting to get into treatment. That is something I would like to see Purple House do, but that would require a lot.

When I enter a space, I try to own it. That helps to make people feel more comfortable who are more vulnerable. And it can go the other way, too. People can walk in and feel completely uncomfortable with who I am as a trans woman. But once they realize I am owning the space, I am the one providing the space for their shelter, it helps them to look beyond their own uncomfortable ignorance. I am not sure where else in this particular state this can happen. I am not sure how many places in Detroit you can go and have a couple of trans people run a shelter. If that happened for me, that would have changed a lot of my fear. Ann Arbor is a progressive city to be if you are trans or part of the LGBTQ community. I have always felt pretty comfortable walking around in Ann Arbor.

…

During the last 5 years on my journey, although I am not Christian, I have always tried to seek out spiritual connections. In realizing that I have a spiritual connection to the universe and that things happen for a reason, I have developed a strong sense of gratitude. I pulled myself out of the gutter, so anything that I have, I am grateful for. I tell myself that every single day.

The universe has a plan, and my relationship with Peggy and the community is something I can't necessarily put into words. It has allowed me to become this person that people respect, admire, and need. I am reminded that I am more than what I seem at face value. I will never forget that we are more than people see.

Groundcover News is a community newspaper. It was founded right after the Ann Arbor News stopped publishing every day and instead went to publishing just twice a week. The publisher of Groundcover News at that time, Susan Beckett, was motivated to publish this paper due to the poverty and vulnerability of members in our community. She wanted to publish it as a way to help poor and homeless people have an income by selling the paper to help people to buy food, transportation, etc.

I don’t write for Groundcover News for the money. We have gotten positive reviews from many people, including professors. One professor who had been reading Groundcover News since it was founded told me that my writing was just as good as what he had read in major newspapers like the New York Times and Washington Post!

I am currently working on a project called “The Homeless in Ann Arbor: Who They Are and What They Want.” We started more than 5 years ago. The work was inspired by an article written by a professor of psychology: “The Squatters of Lima: Who They Are and What They Want” as well as my writing about warming centers.

Learning points from this work were that [people who are] homeless are not a monolith. There is diversity and complexity within their experiences. Some may say they want housing or security, some want medical insurance, medical healing, or food security. Others want maximum freedom. There are many different priorities; not everyone has the same needs and priorities. For example, I once was talking to a woman at Delonis, and her main priority was to find a boyfriend.

When I started to work with MissionA2 (Michigan Itinerant Shelter System-Interdependent Out of Necessity), I was on the board for 5 years. As a member of the board, I was on the finance sub-committee. We were a group of around five to six people who talked about fundraising to buy homes and renovate them to create affordable housing. There was a lot of discussion about what kind of building and the design layout to make–small, single occupancy buildings versus homes with multiple rooms in them.

This was a way to provide community living so that people can live on the first or second floors and then share a community dining space. Some people just want their own small building (tiny house) as a model to use. Because Purple house is only on 3 acres of land, they were trying to figure out how they wanted to use the space to design housing. I think they should build a community center using the Gilbert Court model as the ideal. In this model, people each have their own bedrooms but share a kitchen, bathroom, and dining space.

To me, a sense of community is a place where peace, love, and people gather together in harmony, in cooperation, and in service to one another. Fundamentally, there must be a basic sense of respect. You give and expect respect in return. Respect is not something you earn. Respect is a basic human right in a civilized society.

Mission and Mercy House communities work because there is peace and a peaceful coexistence. Trust, on the other hand, is earned. However, respect is expected, not earned. Trust is something you build with consistency. You do not build trust by being a hypocrite or being an unequivocal person. You want people to consistently treat you the same way.

In my opinion, the 3 most important things in relationships are:

1. Respect.

2. Communication: There is so much variance in this, so many dimensions. Listening, talking, writing, and non-verbal communication. However, most human beings want peaceful communication, not melodramatic or acrimonious communication.

3. Trust, which is honored and built through consistency. It is possible to relate to someone you do not trust, but there needs to be mutual respect. It is difficult to have relationships with people who do not capture all 3 of these qualities. In a healthy community, you need all three of these. The most basic ones are the first two.

I like the idea of Mercy House, however sometimes there is a difference between the rhetoric and the reality. The rhetoric is a peaceful setting: we have Mercy House because we want to show mercy. A part of showing mercy is to do whatever we can to alleviate hunger, to help vulnerable people survive, to help alleviate poverty and homelessness. We hope we can provide a peaceful environment so that mercy, love, and giving people hope can be achievable. But the bottom line is that there is risk involved in bringing people together who have psychiatric problems. There is everyday anger against one another, everyday challenges that come with this.

Quite a few people in the homeless community do not want to go to Delonis because they want freedom and life without having to follow the rules at Delonis. Many of them will not seek out medical help until it is too late. One good thing that Mission is doing is to try to connect people to health services. During the COVID-19 pandemic, Mission and Delonis along with the Ann Arbor local government, worked to ensure people who were homeless had received their COVID-19 vaccines. They also worked to provide hotel spaces to allow for safe social distancing, up to 100 people were housed at one time.

People in healthcare need to know that people may make choices that are not in their best interest. We have people at Delonis, Purple house, and Mercy House who will never take the vaccine, but there are also people who did take it. There is a lot of intermingling of people of different vaccination statuses.