I was a troublemaker. I was a gangbanger, doing drugs, hanging with the wrong crowd. I hid it from my parents but my mom caught on. The night I left we had an argument. “What if you get us killed?” I didn’t want to cause any more damage to my family I love my mom and dad. Everyone got along but me. I was gonna commit suicide. I was hanging myself from a bedpost when my younger brother, Danny, came in, stopped me and hugged me. He said, “Don’t go!” I cried with him; took him back to his room. I packed up my stuff in the middle of the night. From that time I was homeless. I was 9. I chose to be a real gangbanger and street person. At the age of 18, I had a kid. I got out of the gang the next year. I told them, “I’m a family man. I’m done with gangbanging.” They whipped my ass. Pistol-whipped me, broke my nose, left me with scars. Most people think homeless live on the streets and are dirty. It doesn’t last forever unless you want it to. It’s beauty and struggle. It’s human. I want to become an advocate for the homeless. After working as an auto and bus mechanic for 20 years, 10 as a union mechanic, I returned to writing. I worked in the family business until it failed in 1992. I was 37. I started living in my car. 80% of my meals the past 20 years have come from dumpsters in part because I refuse to take money from the government because conservatives are always accusing poor people of taking handouts. So I only eat food that society throws away. I also organize 4 different “Food Not Bombs” collectives. They are a global anarchist movement. When I was a working class bus mechanic and a typical American consumer, I would go to a market and buy foods advertisers wanted us to eat and my health was not good. I wasn’t eating healthy food and my budget didn’t allow me to buy more nutritious organic foods rich people could afford. But as a homeless person I discovered eating form dumpsters of wealthy people’s markets like Whole Foods was healthier than the food marketed to the average American consumer. PHOTO AND TEXT COURTESY OF INTERNATIONAL NETWORK OF STREET PAPERS BEING BEING PHOTO AND TEXT COURTESY OF INTERNATIONAL NETWORK OF STREET PAPERS BEING HOMELESS DOESN’T DEFINE ME, SURVIVING IT DOES. HOMELESS DOESN’T DEFINE ME, SURVIVING IT DOES. HOMELESS DOESN’T DEFINE ME, SURVIVING IT DOES. PHOTO AND TEXT COURTESY OF INTERNATIONAL NETWORK OF STREET PAPERS First time I was homeless I was 14 years old. I was kicked out of the house. There were 7 of us kids. I was the oldest. My dad died when I was 6, my mom when I was 12. My mom’s brother took us in but I wouldn’t obey the rules. I’ve had housing on and off since then. I’d heard about Uptown Tent City and I wanted to get totally involved. I got a propane stove and tank and I started cooking for the community. There were about 25 of us under Lawrence viaduct and about 20 under Wilson. We help each other. I got elected mayor of Tent City. I’m homeless but I’m happy. I’m doing what I enjoy doing: helping people. I was a Hospital Corpsman 3rd Class in the U.S. Navy and a 5th generation Native veteran. My great-grandfather served in “Big Red One”, 1st Infantry Division in WWI; he was from Turtle Mountain Band of Chippewa Tribe in Belcourt, ND. He wasn’t considered a citizen. The U.S. didn’t grant citizenship to Native Americans until 1924. My great-aunt was a WAC in WWII. My greatuncle served in Vietnam. I served at the tail end of Desert Storm/Desert Shield. I served in a confl ict zone in Haiti in 1998. Our family has been in every war since the Revolutionary War. I was sexually assaulted at the Naval Medical Center in San Diego after being roofi ed. I was taken back to my room and endured a trauma that changed my life forever. Everyone on the base started pointing at me— “She’s a liar! She deserved it!” I convinced them to transfer me to a different base. There was an altercation at a bar that triggered my PTSD, and I was wrongfully charged. The Innocence Project intervened, and the case was overturned. I got pregnant with my fi rst son right after I got home. I stayed in San Diego for 6 years after that. My husband was an abusive drunk who tried to kill me on multiple occasions. I moved back to Chicago in 2006. I got into another abusive relationship. Since 2008, we’ve had small bouts of homelessness. I wound up staying with my abusive boyfriend. When we were homeless, we stayed doubled up with friends and family. When I couldn’t stay with friends, I’d call my ex and ask for help with rent, food, rides. I know I shouldn’t have called him—he beat me, stalked me, and tried to kill me. I still have the scars as a reminder that I am not a victim but a survivor. I felt at the time I had no choice. I am a single mom of 3, and my son has special needs and required multiple therapies and tutoring. I fi nally got into the VA system last year. My family was placed in housing by Volunteers of America. Being homeless doesn’t defi ne me, surviving it does. I left New York when 9/11 happened. I wanted to see America. Went from NY to Vegas, started painting on the walls there with Magic Markers. A friend suggested I come to Venice Beach. I’ve drawn my whole life. Got into tattoos. Started to paint here in Venice. An oil painter on the boardwalk taught me painting techniques. I learned different techniques from different artists who shared brush strokes. I’ve slept everywhere from alleys to parking garages to sidewalks. I’ve stayed on friends’ sofas. The community takes care of me. They look at me as a resident who lives outside. Homeless has become a dirty word. It should be a hate crime to use that word. I don’t like the stereotype; we’re not all the same. I’m not a shitty homeless person. I’m an artist. I’ve earned that right. I have my art supplies and my bass guitar and that’s it. I don’t have piles of stuff. I’m not a hoarder. I get canvasses donated and I just paint over them. I paint a lot of clowns. They scare the shit out of kids. Scared me when I was a kid. If I had my own place I’d fi ll every square inch with murals because that’s what my life is: one big painting. PHOTO AND TEXT COURTESY OF INTERNATIONAL NETWORK OF STREET PAPERS PHOTO AND TEXT COURTESY OF INTERNATIONAL NETWORK OF STREET PAPERS March 2022 DENVER VOICE 9
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