Elemental Living

Assignment 2 ENG-109 Feature Story Serena Aubrey

Elemental Living

When I woke up Monday morning I found it a bit chilly, so I turned the heat up. I looked out the window and noticed the fog. Everything was wet outside from the mist. I shivered at the sight of it, glad for my home, grateful that I do not have to struggle with attempting survival in the elements.

I had determined, the night before, that Monday was the day I was going to go see the “porch man”. I had noticed that a homeless man had moved onto the porch of a vacant house on Cliffe Avenue, between 19th & 17th Street. I thought I would go talk to this individual and ask him how this unfortunate situation had occurred. Sitting at my kitchen table, sipping my coffee, my thoughts turned to this guy. I wondered how cold he had been last night? I wondered if he was wet from the mist in the air?

I had been watching the porch for about a week, trying to catch a look at the fellow who made his bed there every night. I wasn't sure if the gentleman would be willing to share his story, or if it was even wise for me to make contact with a “street-person”. When I finally saw who the man was I felt okay about approaching him. I thought he wouldn’t mind so much. He hangs around Safeway, you see, and I had run into him before, given him a few cigarettes. On Sunday, while shopping, I sought him out at his regular spot by the Starbuck’s stand. I sat with him and asked if he was living on the porch of the house on Cliffe. He peered at me bright sky-blue eyes and quite readily told me he was. I asked him if I could visit with him the next morning, on his porch, to talk about his situation, and ask him some questions. I explained that I was a journalism student, assigned a feature story, and wondered if I might write about him. He was agreeable.

I pulled my car into the driveway at 7:15 AM. From watching the house I knew that he doesn't spend daytime hours on the porch, just using it to store some of his belongings and to sleep. He was just getting up, organizing his pack sack. His bike was leaning against the house. I did not see the little bike trailer anywhere though. It had been there all week, but not this morning. Written on his pack was "Bob da Bum". He greeted me and we began to talk.

My question: It was pretty cold last night, Bob, how did you stay warm?

Bob: I stay pretty warm. I have a lot of blankets.

He is layered up pretty good. I count at least four layers of shirt collars under his winter coat. He has good knit headgear on, with ear flaps. He is wearing gloves and lined boots. And yes, he is sitting on a stack of blankets and quilts. I want to sit and I feel the porch boards, but they are damp. Far to damp to sit on. He sees my little dilemma and he pulls a North Face vest out of the pile and graciously lays it down for me to sit on.

Bob: Can you believe it? Somebody stole my bike trailer.

Me: Your'e kidding? I saw it here every day last week.

Bob: Yeah, it was stolen yesterday. I know who took it. Damn crack-heads.

Me: Wow, I'm sorry about that. I imagine that makes your life just a little bit harder, to have that gone now?

Bob: Yeah, I use it for work, when I go collecting bottles.

Me: Have you lived in the Comox Valley all your life Bob?

Bob: No, no, no. I was born in Saskatchewan, Fort Qu'Appelle, on the reserve, I'm native. But I grew up in Edmonton.

Me: Oh? Did you have a good life there? Did you have both your parents?

Bob: I was in foster care from birth. I never knew my father. I know my mother, but she did not raise me. The foster parents weren't always nice.

Me: When did you come to the Valley?

Bob: About fifteen years ago.

Me: And how long have you been homeless?

Bob: Nine years.

Me: How old are you Bob?

Bob: Fifty-one.

I try to keep the shock out of my eyes. I had thought him to be in his late sixties, maybe even early seventies. His leathered face and worn look must be due to the nine years of homelessness - the rigours of elemental living.

Me: Wow, we're the same age. So how did this all come to be Bob? Why is it that you are living on the street? Can you not get into some sort of affordable housing?

Bob: I am trying to get into a place now. I have a dog though, and I won't give it up. I would give up a girlfriend before I give up my baby. The place I am trying to get now, it's a far piece out of this area. And of course, it can't be on a flat road. It's uphill. Sometimes, when my MS acts up, it's not so easy getting on the bike.

Me: You have MS?

Bob: Yeah, I have to take four medications every day.

Me: You have medical coverage I hope, your meds are paid for?

Bob: Yeah, they are paid for. One of them is very expensive, and at first my benefits didn't cover that one, but my doctor made a special application to get funding for it because he knows that I am homeless. Now that one is covered too.

Me: Well thank God for that. You can't find anything close to town to rent?

Bob: It's just too expensive. I get some support from social services 'cause I don't have an address. They don't give me the housing portion, just the personal support portion. I get that twice a month, on Mondays. I set it up that way so that I know I have some money coming mid-month.

Me: So you get that, and whatever you earn from bottle collecting?

Bob: Yeah, I collect every day, as long as the MS doesn't kick up. I do okay. I'm starting out with sixty cents today. So I'll have to collect later. I like to eat. I'm a bit of a little piggy. I like my food.

Me: I hear you there, I like to eat too. I see you at Safeway all the time Bob. They hassle you there at all?

Bob: Safeway? I practically live at Safeway. No they don't hassle me at all there. I am quiet, I go in there to get warm. I just sit quiet at the tables, by Starbucks. As a matter of fact someone gave me a Starbucks card.

Bob calls out and waves at some one walking across the street. A buddy of his. He tells me the fellow is going to go to McDonald's for morning coffee, before he goes to Safeway for his juice. I know that juice is street-lingo for methadone. A managed addict, the Safeway pharmacy doles out his prescription methadone twice a week. Monday's and Thursday's, paid for by social services.

Bob: This guy, he does alright with the prescription. A lot of addicts they get their juice, but they still buy street drugs too. This guy just goes and gets his script twice a week and goes home, that's all he does. Me, I don't do anything. I'm clean. My stupid porch-mate, she is into that crack and meth and what have you.

I believe him when he says he is drug-free. His eyes are bright white, lively and clear. Not the dull, bloodshot jaundiced yellow of a substance abuser. But he does have a tall can of Colt 45 that he is sipping on this early morning.

Me: You have a porch-mate? Where is she?

Bob: Oh, she got hauled out of here by the RCMP. They searched her bedding and they found syringes and a crack pipe. I told her not to bring that stuff up here, and to keep her crack-head friends away from the porch. I don't need that kind of shit. They'll break into the house and wreck things. I'm not like that. I've got an agreement with the property manager that I won't never go in the house, that I'll only use the porch. He said he don't mind that. But now, because the police were here and they found all her shit, well they called Garry Usher, and of course, now I got to move on. Again.

Me: Gary Usher, who's that?

Bob: Gary, he's by-law. I have known him for quite a while. He is just doing his job, but if it stays quiet, he don't come looking for me. But this girl, she just gave him a reason to tell me to move on. Maybe that place will come through. That would be okay.

Me: Tell me Bob, before you got struck down with the MS, what kind of work did you do?

Bob: Oh it wasn't the MS that struck me down. I had a career once upon a time. I was a paramedic. I went to get trained in San Diego. I was the first Canadian, and the first native, to ever complete this course. It was a good career. But then I got hit by a drunk driver. I was on my way home with my wife and her two daughters, on my birthday, when we got slammed into by the drunk driver. My wife and her two little girls were killed and half my head was caved in. They put a steel plate in my head. I had to learn every thing all over again. To talk, to walk, everything. It took almost four years before I was right again.

Me: My goodness, you have had your fair share of tragedy in your life, I can see. Do you have any family around here?

Bob: I have a sister here, well she’s a foster sister, not a biological sister. She’s keeping my dog for now, because it is too cold for her out here, and not safe enough. I have a daughter, she’s seventeen. She lives in Edmonton. I just contacted her not too long ago. She has two little girls. I got to talk to the oldest one. Markea, that’s my daughter, she called me Dad on the phone. That made me feel real good. I hope to be able to go see her real soon, but with what I get I can’t afford to go all the way to Edmonton and back. I have to get going now. I have that Starbucks card, you can come with me to Safeway if you like, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.

Me: That’s very nice of you to offer Bob, but I have to get going too. Good luck with getting that place. I hope it works out for you.

I called a few people to verify the details he had given me. Colleen Dane, of the Comox Valley Record had published a few stories about the homeless in Courtenay. She was not available, but I spoke to Mark Allan, and he emailed me a story that ran in the Record last October. The details he told me are repeated in the Record story, except he never told me that he was a diagnosed schizophrenic, or that he had spent eleven years in prison for shooting to death a man who had raped his younger sister, or that he receives a disability pension. The other details are there though. At least it proves consistency on his part. In the report he is quoted as saying the government doesn't do enough, he says that they have to remember they are “homeless, not humanless”.

I also called Gary Usher, the City of Courtenay by-law officer. He told me that Bob is his own worst enemy. He has personally made the effort to arrange housing for Bob, several times, but Bob always has reasons to turn down the offers. He does not want to live with other people, he does not want to live where there is a structured environment, he wants to be able to keep his dog with him (although right now, he can not keep it either, because of the temperatures). To Gary’s way of thinking, Bob enjoys his mantle of “the face of the homeless”, a notoriety that gives him some sort of status, no matter how negative that picture may be to mainstream society. As to Bob’s claim that the property manager of the vacant house on Cliffe does not mind his presence: Gary says that is blatantly false. It was the property representative that requested Bob be told to move on. Bob is not violent, or a vandal, but his presence attracts other homeless people. At one point, last summer there were five tents pitched in that yard and the amount of garbage was horrific.

All in all, the story of Bob the Bum is a tragic one. The abusive foster care; the rape of his sister; the jail term for an act of “street justice”; the accident that destroyed the life he had made for himself after being released from prison; but most of all, the fact that Bob would rather embrace all of the negativity of his life and choose to wear it as a badge of “street honour”, rather than accept the help that is offered to him to make positive decisions that would improve his circumstances.