Homeless Journalist Rips Bloomberg Over Abuse, Drugs & Rape in NYC Shelters
This article will shock and perhaps anger you. I truly hope that it does. I hope people will be so angry that they’ll finally wake up and realize that Mayor Michael Bloomberg, in his attempt to display New York City as “Emerald City”, is not only supporting the idea of one-way tickets for the homeless to get rid of them, he is blatantly ignoring dangerous situations and extremely unhealthy conditions within the city's shelter system. This is not hyperbole. This is a fact based on my decent into homelessness!
When explaining the Beatles classic song 'Helter Skelter', Sir Paul McCartney said he was using the symbol of a helter skelter to restructure the rock and roll sound. “It could be described as a ride from the top to the bottom—the rise and fall of the Roman Empire," said McCartney. Well, my fall began back in March of 2009. I was working a Staff Writer for “Felony Magazine” and as an account manager for a Brooklyn-based marketing and sales company called “Max Advance”. One day, completely out of the blue, both companies shut down without any warning, and I was left absolutely destitute. I didn’t even have time to look for another job before the axes fell. I couldn’t even file for unemployment because I hadn’t worked for either company long enough.
I scrambled to pick up gigs in and outside of journalism just to keep a roof over my head and food on the table, but the economic climate prevented that from ever happening. My family lives in different parts of the country and is having a tough time, too. Thus, living with them, even temporarily, was not an option. Dejected and embarrassed, I was forced onto the streets June 10 with no job prospects, no money and no hope.
I spent most nights walking from one end of uptown Manhattan to the other or riding the “A” or “E” train back and forth. Staying in one location for too long when you’re on the streets is dangerous, so I had to keep moving. I heard stories in the past about the city shelters, so I was a little reluctant to seek them out for assistance. Thus, I attempted to spend a few nights huddled in little, dark corners of buildings, particularly around 34th Street and Penn Station. This is where the hell ride began.... and where I saw the worst in humanity.
In one example, a Port Authority (P.A.) police officer, who was of Asian decent, was cursing and threatening a frail, black woman who was clearly mentally ill and no more than 100 pounds soaking wet. “Get the fuck out of here before I put my foot in your ass”, said the officer, as the woman paced back and forth mumbling incoherently. The woman offered no resistance and continued to mumble as she made her way toward an exit. The officer, apparently not satisfied that she was moving fast enough, began to literally stalk her. The most alarming aspect was the fact that he put on his gloves and punched his palms as he followed her into a secluded section on the station. I have no idea what happened after that.
Another incident involved officers standing over sleeping vagrants and kicking them to wake them up. Some were grabbed, shoved and pushed into walls and told to exit the station. I would repeatedly pass groups of P.A. officers, who probably pegged me for homeless because of my knapsack and travel bags, and they’d glare at me as though I was a piece of shit. No “How are you, sir?” or anything in the way of a cordial response. One of them asked, “What are you looking at, asshole? Keep moving!” I just laughed and walked away. Now, I understand the Port Authority police have a job to do, but I couldn’t understand why people lacking their full mental capacity, or those like myself who were simply minding their own business, were treated so harshly or as though they were less than human.
After several days, I finally decided to go to a shelter because fatigue and hunger began to take a serious toll. I wearily made my way to 41st Street and Ninth Avenue. The facility was called “The Open Door”, and the line of disheveled and displaced people, which consisted of military veterans, very young mothers and people recently released from prison or drug rehabilitation programs, seemed infinite. I was informed that all were waiting to be served dinner and that everyone would have to come back outside to line up and get a bed for the night. There was no guarantee you'd get a bed. The only guarantee was that the “bed line” would be three to four-times longer than the dinner line. That's what most of the veterans told me.
I sat on the ground watching young mothers nurse their children. Old men were nodding off as if in a drug-induced state, while others sold “loosie” cigarettes for fifty cents each. Tattooed gang-bangers brazenly stood in line making drug sales with police cars in close proximity. Watching them sell a myriad of drugs was one thing, but when the dealers and customers started “weeding up” in front of young children, that was more than I could take. I covered my nose, and one of the gang members took offense. “What? You got a problem, bitch? You got a fuckin' problem,” he yelled. “Yeah, I do. You need to smoke that somewhere away from these kids,” I proclaimed.” His homeboy walked over and said “My bad, son!” and they walked away.
There was no security to be found. I asked a man seated next to me about it, who happened to be wearing a U.S. Navy veteran cap, and he indicated there was never any security in front of the building. “They’re always inside. If you want to know the truth about it, they don’t and can’t protect anybody here,” he said. “You see that pregnant woman over there? Someone in the shelter raped her. That kind of thing happens all the time in these damn places. I’ve seen it, and it sickens me. All these young girls getting pregnant because they get raped,” the veteran continued. A 38-year-old woman seated a few feet away from us, who only wanted to be identified as “Cheena”, exhaled cigarette smoke and nodded in disgust and agreement.
“You got some crazy-ass, out of control people here, man. You got convicted murderers, gang members, mental patients, rapists and pedophiles mixed with members of the general population. That is a recipe for disaster,” said the man I dubbed “Old Navy”. “The shelters are the worst place for children because of what they see and what can happen to them. This is why people don’t want to go and would rather take their chances on the streets or subways,” he continued. It was at this point that the gang member returned and began to stare at me. Old Navy whispered in my ear. “Be careful, young man. Someone cut him in the food line two weeks ago, and he picked up one of those metal trashcans and hit the person in the head. Busted him wide open! The man needed 40 stitches to close the wound. I’m telling you, man. The shelters are a dangerous place. People have no idea.” The gang member walked over and deliberately brushed up against me. With 34 years of experience in Chinese martial arts, I confidently stated, “You touch me again and you’re going to the morgue.” He pulled out his cell phone and someone in line said, “Oh shit! It’s on now!” It was then that I realized horrid, tasteless, processed food the size of a “Lean Cuisine” meal wasn’t worth risking my life for, let alone a bed. I left The Open Door and never returned.
I spent several more nights on the trains before I ended up at the 30th Street Men's Shelter on 29th Street and First Avenue. Not surprisingly, the facility once served as Bellevue Psychiatric Hospital. Everything from the registration process to the administrators was in total disarray, and people would often spend 10 to 12 hours, usually crammed into a small room filled with the stench of bad hygiene and urine, just waiting to be processed or to receive what's known as an “overnight bed”. This is where I met “Eric”, a 21-year-old Caucasian and exceptionally gifted sketch artist from upstate New York struggling with substance abuse. “I came from a good family, man. My parents are wealthy as hell and gave me a lot of love. How I ended up on drugs and in a shit-hole like this is beyond me,” he said. In effort to clean himself up, he was making plans to regularly attend Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) meetings.
“Joey”, 43, was an Italian construction worker and respected leader within one of the largest unions in the state. His manner of speaking made him seem as though he was straight out of “The Sopranos”. His wife, whom he always referred to as “the cunt”, had him arrested and banished him from their home after he drank a bottle of vodka and tried to attack her lover, a 23-year veteran of the New York City Police Department, with a machete. “That fuckin' cunt! She and that motherfucker are eating food I bought and having sex in my bed.... in a house that I'm still paying the fuckin' mortgage on. The cunt won't even let me talk to my 16-year-old daughter! It's fuckin' Father's Day, for Christ's sake,” he yelled. He, too, was making plans to go into rehab because he wanted to be able to spend quality time with his daughter and acquire work on a frequent basis.
“Black”, 28, was an electrician transplanted from the island of Jamaica. He was doing amateur porn films on the side to earn extra money after work dried up in his field. “I've made enough money to pay my way into the electrician's union. I did about five films, at $500 to $600 a pop, with some of the hottest female stars in the biz. I didn't fuck those bitches raw, though. I love to fuck, but I'm not stupid,” he said. “I'll be called for electrician's gigs in the coming weeks and I'll leave the porn biz. I just did it to make money to get into the union. Now, I'm out!” Several men inquired as to how they could take advantage of the offer, and Black provided them with an address and contact name for immediate work.
“Jim”, 51, was a former broker who lost everything in the Wall Street meltdown of AIG, Merrill Lynch and Bear-Sterns. Clinging tightly to his bags, he nervously looked around the room repeatedly, which was filled with black and Latino men. Someone broke into his locker during an overnight stay and stole his wallet. His clean-cut, Khaki pant, Bob Costas appearance completely jolted me because he didn't fit the description of those typically associated with homelessness. Then again, neither did I. The director of security indicated that they would do all they could to locate his property. Jim, apparently frustrated beyond words, wheeled his three suitcases through the front entrance and disappeared, while the director and members of his security team repeatedly joked about the situation and made fun of him.
“T-Rex”, 25, was a former member of the “The Bloods”. You could say he was born into it, since his father was a high-profile member and his mother swore allegiance to “The Latin Kings”. He was desperately trying to turn his life around by enrolling in the Doe Fund Inc's “Ready, Willing and Able” training and employment program. The shelter caseworkers provided referrals for the program, if they felt like it. T-Rex left the gang after fathering an infant daughter. He is expecting his second child soon. Thus, he plans to reunite with the mother of his children and provide a loving, safe and stable environment for his family.
I ultimately formed a unique bond with some of the men at the shelter, and it was from them, as well as frustrated and tenured shelter administrators, that I discovered many of the New York City shelters were just as appalling as the 30th Street Men's Shelter: from the moldy, feces-smeared shower curtains and slimy, bacteria-filled shower floors....to the callous, rude and judgmental security personnel. To be honest, the security guards were in no position to judge anyone; not when they were openly using the word nigger and having sex with fellow guards and shelter residents! I literally saw male guards touching the breast, ass and vagina of the female guards. Now, let me stress that some of the guards understood that they were only one paycheck away from being in our position and had sympathy for us, but most of the wannabe cops acted like they were superior in every way to each homeless person they encountered, including me. I suspect they'll regret how they treated me and the others after this article goes public. Fuck'em!
Through it all, I constantly battled to keep my sanity. The countless restrictions that were enforced, such as not being able to use electrical outlets or appliances – even small radios or televisions - and 10 pm curfew created a prison-like atmosphere. Hardened criminals, murderers, gang-bangers and the mentally unstable were quick to confront you if you so much as looked at them the wrong way. This combustible cocktail was bad enough, but what made the situation worse was when the inner demons began ripping and devouring pieces of my self-esteem and faith in God. They often appeared at night to torment me. “You’re a sorry, worthless bastard! So what if you’ve helped hundreds of people with your news stories and features! So what if you've received commendations for journalism and community service from some of the most prominent government officials in the country! Look at you now! You’re a fuckin’ loser! Some of your closest friends have abandoned you because they’re embarrassed and ashamed of you. No woman will have your homeless, pathetic, broke ass!” These are some of the things the demons would say, but what kept me focused was the fact that I was going to have a major story to tell that thousands, if not millions, would want to hear once I left Bellevue, or, as I affectionately referred to it, “Hellview”. As I post this article, I pray that will still be the case.
After much procrastination and resistance, I filed for public assistance. They indicated they could find me decent housing through the New York City Housing Authority, but it wasn't guaranteed. There's an exceedingly long waiting list and single, “undomicled” men are not considered priority. I doubt they'll be in a hurry to find me anything after this article hits the Internet. I'll take my chances. I hated filing because I prefer to work, and I pray that I will be given an opportunity to expand my career in the field of journalism or scriptwriting. I don't want to be on public assistance or get caught up in its hellish system. I've been gainfully employed most of my adult life and feel as though I've taking a major step back for a man in his late 40’s. One of the employees at the Jamaica (Queens) Social Services office put everything in perspective for me after discovering I was a journalist and writer.
“This is only temporary, young man. I think God wants you to go through this. Who better to write about all this than a journalist? You’ve gone through the shelter and welfare system and have a mountain of evidence to prove it. The public needs to know these things are happening, and it's happening at facilities that provide these services nationwide. In New York, the Department of Social Services has reached a crisis point and we, as employees, have our hands tied,” she said. “We want to do so much more to help these people, but the system won't allow us to. Abuse is running rampant throughout the shelter system. I hear horror stories every single day. People are not safe! Bloomberg acts like everything is okay, but the fact is he and his people need to step up, stop doing so much for the wealthy and help those in need. Buying homeless people one-way tickets is not the answer,” she strongly proclaimed. “I don't expect him to fix everything in the shelter system, but I expect him to find ways to improve the system so people and families can feel safe and seek them out when they have no place else to go. Just imagine how many young, single mothers with babies are on the street right now because they fear the shelters! God willing, your story will force the mayor to open his damn eyes, set things in motion and implement some serious changes.”
I'm entering my seventh week of this ordeal, and I have no idea what fate awaits me in the coming days, weeks and months. I'm no longer at Hellview, but I'm still in a New York City shelter. The restrictions, as well as the asinine programs you're required to attend in order to qualify and maintain benefits through the Department of Social Services, are greatly affecting my ability to write and meet with people that could help me and my career. All I know is that I'm fighting a lonely battle to regain employment in or outside the profession I love, a place to call my own and a sense of peace. With that said, I would like to direct my closing statement to Mayor Michael Bloomberg and the members of his callous, oblivious and well-heeled administration.
Mr. Mayor, in many respects, you have been good for New York City. You now seek a third term, and while you have managed to gain quite a following in the city and abroad, now is the time to step up your ass up and prove that you are a mayor for all people and not just the wealthy. You cannot claim to be doing great things for the city of New York and all New Yorkers when people – particularly mothers with infant children – are forced to live among crack or heroin addicts....or raped and impregnated in your shelters. Cut the bullshit! You're a tough man, Mr. Mayor, but I seriously doubt you would be able to tolerate the streets, a city shelter or the E train for several nights. In fact, I'm issuing a public challenge for you to try living in a city shelter for three days, without any special treatment or assistance from your staffers, in order to have a complete understanding of what desperation and homelessness are all about. Do you have the billion-dollar balls to do it? It's hell, and it's no damn joke, Mr. Mayor. Take it from someone who has become the latest addition to the homeless population in “Bloom-Town”.
Author: edenpictures
Gary, this is terrible!!!! Someone must be able to help out in this situation.
ReplyDeleteDear Readers,
ReplyDeleteI want to state this is the strongest possible terms. I DID NOT post this article to gain sympathy for my plight. I'm concerned that people are overlooking the OBJECTIVE of this piece, which is to shed light on the horrors taking place within the shelter system of New York City. THAT is what I want all of my "G-Fans" and/or readers to focus on.
I have every confidence that I, along with the help of the Creator, will rise from the ashes like the proverbial Phoenix and be ten-times better than I ever was. Don't be saddened by my ordeal because no matter what, "The G-Man" is still standing and, most importantly, STILL WRITING!
I love you all!
Gary, get that one way ticket and get over here~
ReplyDeleteK
I know a bit about the horrors or plight of the homeless in NYC through reading. The shelter situation and experiences are much the same all over the country.
ReplyDeleteTicketing homeless people for sleeping on the streets in Los Angeles was declared "cruel and unusual punishment" ~ people can not walk 24 hours a day. Even though that was a victory for Los Angeles homeless, the city ~ what is that word, brain stuck here, refiled, to try to overturn the ruling.
There seems to be a problem with some of your blog posts, html kind of stuff showing. Do not know if that is on my end (system) or yours.
And, yes, you might try submitting your story to a major magazine.
Hey man, its Jose Santiago.....
ReplyDeleteI have first, second and third hand knowledge of the shelter system in NYC. I was homeless for 1 year back in 1986-'87. I have been working with the homeless since 1989, and am currently employed by a company that helps the homeless on several fronts. Believe me when I say, the shelter system has "improved" over the years. It's still light years away from being anywhere near a good system, but still it has its moments. While working for an outreach team for the homeless, (my job was to convince the homeless at The NY Port Authority to enter the system) I was met with incredible resistance from many people who would rather stay in the stresst than enter the system. It is what it is, and hopefully it will get better. Garey dude, much love and good luck.
I was really blown away by this latest over the shelters and the homeless
ReplyDeleteI know that it's a Big problem not only in New York but all over the Country.
I think what impacted me the most is the Children, Veterens and all the Mentally ill.
Not to mention everyone who has lost they're way of life period..
It's sad that alot the people in Politics know what goes on , But just don't give a Damn.
It doesn't effect them so why care about it..
Shelter is suppose to be a Safe Haven, Not a place for crime violence and degrating Human Beings.
And all those Cival Servants, their suppose to Serve and Protect not add to the problem.
The only other thing I have to say for now is
GOD IS WATCHING.
Love You "G"
Boots
I've been doing alot of thinking since I read this article, and it just sickens me to think how people can overlook the bottom line, and just keep moving.
ReplyDeleteI realize we can't save the world, people have to want to save themselves, But sometimes we need the help from an Angel or a stranger.
I once was homeless with 3 young daughters, But was fortunite enough to have a friend I could turn to.
Alot of things happened even in that situation I care to forget about. And no-one wanted to help.
It's sad what we shouldn't have to go through just to survive.
With Much Respect
Love You "G"
Boots
G,
ReplyDeleteIn all the time I have known you, this is the MOST PROVOCATIVE article you have ever written!
It shows great courage to bare your own situation to the world in an attempt to shed light on such a dispicable and terrifying situation in shelters which are supposed to be helping the most vulnerable in our communities.
Thank you for having the wherwithal to not only write this article while battling personal demons, but to take to task the bureaucrats that turn a blind eye to this saddest of issues.
Truly you and your talents have been put on this earth "for such a time as this"!
Before submitting this article for publication w/ a magazine, you may want to check a couple of things:
ReplyDelete1. "...made him seen [seem]as though he was straight out of the Sopranos."
2. "step up your ass up."
Having been homeless on several occasions myself, I know how incredibly difficult it can be to concentrate. Even now, I seem to post things that have typos/errors.
You are correct in assuming that you have just made it more difficult for yourself to obtain employment by disclosing your homeless situation. One does become stigmatized and disenfranchised as a result of being unhoused.
I wish you all the best along your journey!
Please visit the "Street Voices" authors @ www.homelesstales.com
Blessings,
Rev. Cynthia
www.commongroundworldwide.org
Cousin I have SO been there in some of what you say.
ReplyDeleteYou aren't crazy no matter if your brain spins. That's normal. You are surviving in an environment that quickly wipes out people without a ton of willpower.
You aren't "less than" you thought you were--you are "MORE than" you thought you were or you wouldn't be writing this.
You *need* a crew. Seriously. Preferably those, like yourself who are out of work and come from a similar background. Shared skills are a necessity.
I know the kind of food program you are talking about. Although not quite so bad, our Tent City Toronto crew used to go to them [when we went] in *groups* because it kept us safe. People thought we were crazier than they were so they left us alone.
Thank you for writing this as clearly and bluntly as you could. Your shock and horror are showing and that's a powerful tool for good.
I don't feel "pity" for you and I don't believe you are looking for sympathy. I'd be PROUD to have a man of your abilities in MY crew [if I still had one] any day. You've retained your humanity, compassion and understanding in the midst of this disaster.
MetisRebel
http://homelesstales.com