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The Department of Housing and Urban Development
has issued its first-ever report to Congress on
the scope of the homeless population in the
United States. The results reveal that as of two
winters ago, when a one-night count was taken in
3,800 cities, about three quarters of a million
Americans are living on the streets. That's more
than four times the estimate projected in the
year 2000 census. And the nation's homelessness
problem has a very human face.
"Street Sense,
ladies and gentlemen, Street Sense.' How 'bout
it, sir? Copy of Street Sense today?"
August
Mallory is one of the vendors who pays
thirty cents a copy for the newspaper by, for,
and about the homeless of Washington. Whenever
he can coax someone into stopping to listen --
and that's not often, as most people hurry past
him -- he has good luck selling the paper for
the cover price of a dollar. He keeps the
seventy-cent profit.
Good afternoon, sir. How are you? This is Street
Sense, our new street paper that just came out."
The already raw day turns dark on McPherson
Square, a stone's throw from the White House.
The skies open, and Mr. Mallory -- who was
homeless for several months after losing his job
-- scurries under a canopy to escape the deluge.
Not every homeless person is a drug addict or a
mental case," he says. "I've found a lot of
homeless people to be very heartful and very
giving people."
Street Sense contains first-person stories and
poems by the homeless, simple recipes, and a
list of shelters and food banks. It's published
by volunteers at the National Coalition for the
Homeless.
Street Sense's co-editor, Ted Henson, was a
longtime volunteer at a homeless shelter in his
hometown of Louisville, Kentucky. Mr. Henson
says the paper will not sugar-coat the realities
of life on the street, or duck the perceptions
that prompt passersby to snarl, "Hey, buddy, get
. . . a . . . job!"
A large majority of the homeless population is a
working population," Mr. Henson notes. "It's not
the fact that they're lazy. It's not the fact
that they're on drugs, or they're drunk, or
they're just bums. These people are formerly
government officials, college graduates,
veterans. People just have a fall. Poverty's a
cycle. To get a job you need a place to stay. To
get a place to stay, you need a job. You need an
address. And it's really hard for people to find
a way to get back on their feet."
Street Sense's other co-editor,
twenty-six-year-old Laura Thompson, takes time
to tutor homeless kids. There's a lot of
families that are homeless," she says. "That's
the fastest-growing population of homelessness.
People can't afford a place to live. These
people that are on the streets or in shelters
are real people. And we're trying to humanize
the homeless and show their struggles.
Forty-seven-year-old George Siletti has lived on
the street for the better part of his adult
life. He's spoken to school and civic groups
about his life -- the chronic depression and
sense of worthlessness, the drinking that he
says stopped thirteen years ago. I've been
sleeping on the heating grates, under business
awnings," he says. "And then I was under a
bridge for awhile, putting cardboard down. It's
difficult, you know, 'cause you don't know where
you're going to sleep the next night. You have
to numb yourself to the chill that goes through
your bones. And I don't mean numbing it with
alcohol and drugs."
The homeless can be scary, he admits. "But we're
not all bad people. We have goals in life. We
cry, we laugh, just like everybody else. How
'bout touching a human being's life? Talk to me.
Say 'good morning' in the morning. Touch my
life."
In Street Sense, poet Pierre Valdez Lewis writes
about a homeless friend:
"As you pass him on your way to work," he writes
. . .
"believe me, he knows that you pretended
as you went upon your merry way
that you didn't see his hand extended."
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