Homeless for the holidays

If you didn’t know better, you might think Richard Craig is a powerful businessman. An athletic, handsome man of 46, he’s dressed sharply from head to toe: black wingtip dress shoes, black dress slacks, a black turtleneck under a black diamond-knit sweater and a long black overcoat. He has a salt-and-pepper flat-top crew cut and fashionable stubble over tanned, weathered skin. He carries himself with confidence and seems to know everyone. Others come to his table to say hello. People passing on the street nod or wave to him as they would a well-connected member of the establishment.

But Craig is not a businessman – at least not at the moment. Right now, he’s homeless. Craig is one of hundreds of homeless people facing another winter on the streets. While he insists that he can handle it, he’s worried about those with less experience and less will to survive.

Even in the best circumstances, being homeless is mentally and emotionally draining. Homeless people interviewed by Illinois Times describe feeling invisible, lost, alone, hopeless and constantly afraid for their lives. Winter adds a physical element to the suffering, bringing new challenges and compounding the effects of homelessness on the human psyche.

This winter in particular will be challenging for Springfield’s homeless population. The Salvation Army – usually a linchpin in the battle against homelessness – doesn’t have any shelter to offer this year. The group is in the midst of renovating a new-to-them building at 221 N. 11th St., and their old facility was sold. Corps administrator Major Steve Woodard says the new facility is slated to open sometime in 2016.

That means 36 shelter beds will be out of commission this winter, putting further pressure on the Winter Warming Center, previously known as the Springfield Overflow Shelter. It’s a seasonal facility open from November to March each winter to supplement Springfield’s permanent shelters. Juan Huerta, director of the Office of Community Relations for the City of Springfield, says the other shelters expanded to absorb the people that the Salvation Army would have otherwise served.

Rod Lane, executive director of Helping Hands of Springfield, says his organization recently expanded from 33 beds to 45 beds by moving to a new location. Still, he says there probably won’t be enough beds for everyone at some point. While demand isn’t high right now, it will likely grow as the weather worsens. Additionally, Helping Hands has not been paid in months by the State of Illinois because of the ongoing budget impasse, and Lane says his organization is running on reserves.

“If we do not get a state budget soon, we will absolutely, unequivocally shut down,” he said.

Huerta said he’s working to have the City of Springfield pay Helping Hands up front for operating the Winter Warming Center, instead of reimbursing them afterward. The temporary shelter opened on Nov. 1.

The lower number of available shelter beds may be somewhat mitigated by the current strong El Niño, which refers to warmer-than-usual surface temperatures in the Pacific Ocean. The phenomenon is projected to push air that is warmer and drier than usual into the upper Midwest this winter, which could mean fewer sub-zero days and less snow. Still, winter storms and cold snaps will undoubtedly happen, and one frigid night is enough to endanger the lives of those people who wind up on the street.
    
A day in the life
Richard Craig usually wakes up before dawn. A local business owner lets Craig sleep under his shop’s awning, so Craig likes to move his suitcase and other belongings out of sight before the business opens.

Most homeless people prefer to sleep at one of the shelters, which offer protection from the weather. However, Craig is one of a handful of people who prefer to sleep outside. During the winter, Craig lines his sleeping bag with garbage bags to keep in heat. While that has kept him from freezing in previous winters, he says it causes him to sweat, which makes him even colder when he gets out of bed. He says he always sleeps on cardboard because “concrete drains your energy.”

Craig says he grew up in a family of itinerant fruit pickers, so he’s used to moving often and sleeping outside. He has lived in California, Colorado, Texas, New Mexico and several other places. Back in Albuquerque, he had a successful window-washing business until his equipment was stolen. He says he actually chooses to be homeless now because being in a house reminds him that his ex-fiancée took their son, now nine years old, when they split up. He keeps in touch with them but doesn’t see them regularly.

Several people have offered to let Craig stay with them when they find semi-permanent shelter like a cheap apartment or an abandoned building. He always turns them down, in part because he sees his homeless status as a calling to protect others on the street.

“There are a lot of predators out here,” he said.

From 6:30 until about 10:30 each morning, Craig and dozens of other people head to the Washington Street Mission at 408 N. Fourth St., which offers hot coffee, laundry service, showers and biweekly clothing giveaways. Inside the mission, people sit at tables or walk around aimlessly, seemingly paying no attention to the woman playing hymns on an old piano. The small men’s room is constantly full, doubling as a changing room and a place to groom.

Outside, people hide from the cold wind in the doorway while they smoke and socialize. A thin, goateed man who looks to be in his late 30s aggressively paces back and forth on the sidewalk, waving his arms and issuing a profanity-laced threat to “beat anyone’s ass” who messes with him. He finally calms down when someone gives him a cigarette.

The smile on Antonia Andrews’ face is framed by the hood on her jacket, which is cinched tight to keep out the wind. She seems to have a positive attitude and keeps her composure as a man who calls himself her boyfriend repeatedly interrupts her mid-sentence. Andrews and the man share a Styrofoam cup which he proudly announces “ain’t Kool-aid.” Originally from Chicago, Andrews moved to Springfield in 2012. She is a mother of two, and she gave birth to her younger child while homeless.

Being homeless as a woman is dangerous. Some of the women intentionally isolate themselves for protection, while others turn to prostitution – or are forced into it. One woman who declined to give her name said, “It sucks. You get raped; you get robbed. It’s not pleasant.”

Being a homeless mother adds the difficulty of protecting children. Some mothers accept help from the Illinois Department of Children and Family Services (DCFS), but they risk losing custody of their children by doing so.

Richard Craig says not everyone who shows up at the mission is actually homeless. For example, some people have homes but live on the street anyway due to mental illness.

Richard Eugene Haley Sr. is a regular at the mission and one of the oldest people living on the street in Springfield. Haley, who gives his age as 58, says he actually does have a home, adding that “a lot of people choose not to go home.” He grew up in the former John Hay Homes public housing complex, moved to Chicago as an adult, got married, had children, separated from his wife, and moved back to Springfield. Asked how he plans to survive the winter, he says he’ll spend some nights in shelters and stay with family other nights.

Starting around 10:30 in the morning, most people at the mission walk the 500 feet east to St. John’s Breadline, 430 N. Fifth St. A man wearing a camouflage hunting jacket and holding an open can of Stag beer begins yelling at another man standing in line. The bread line supervisor, Shawna Harris, calmly breaks up the confrontation before it escalates into a fight. She convinces the man, who introduces himself to her as “One Time Willy,” to calm down, saying, “You’ve got too much to lose.”

Once the Breadline doors open, people file inside and load their trays with all manner of food, including cheesy noodles and ham, coleslaw, broccoli cheddar soup, dinner rolls and a selection of pies, cakes and other desserts. A table near the bathrooms holds loaves of artisan bread, packaged fruit, gourmet salads, snack crackers and other food donated by County Market.

“You’ll never go hungry in Springfield,” a young man named John observed.

He’s an artist from southern Illinois who has been homeless for about four months. He works hard to keep his appearance neat by staying clean-shaven and washing his clothes often. Despite the abundance of food, he shares his frustration at the scarcity of basic accoutrements like toothbrushes and toothpaste, saying that makes it much harder to look presentable for job interviews. Although John doesn’t look homeless, his desperation is apparent when he reveals that he has started drinking as an escape.

“A month ago, I never would have done that,” he said.

He’s not sure how he’ll survive the winter.

“I’m scared,” he said. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

The tables at the breadline fill up as a young couple with a child in a stroller make their way around the chairs to an open table. Nearby, a man whom everyone else avoids is wearing several layers of clothing that reek of urine. “Hotel California” plays over the PA system, and Richard Craig explains that the song is about heroin.

“They stab it with their steely knives,” he says, reciting the lyrics while pretending to inject himself. “But they just can’t kill the beast.”

Robert Hills, one of Craig’s close friends, says drug and alcohol abuse is common among homeless people because of the toll being homeless takes on a person. Often, he says, drug and alcohol abuse push people into crime, which earns them a criminal record and sabotages their attempts to find work and get out of homelessness.

“It’s more exhausting to be homeless than to have an eight-hour-a-day job,” Hills said. “You have to cope with all the rejection, and you look for an escape.”

Around 12:30, Craig makes his way downtown to sit on the plaza by the Old State Capitol, where he says he likes to “just sit and watch the world go by.” Even though the temperature is around 50 degrees, there’s a cold breeze, and Craig catches sporadic glimpses of what he believes to be snowflakes.

Craig is something of a philosopher, having survived several brushes with death and experiencing many painful losses. He says his first wife and child were killed in the ’90s by a gang member who tried to run Craig down with a car but instead killed his family.

“If you really want to see how God works, leave everything behind,” he said. “He’ll show you.”

With a mix of pride and regret in his voice, Craig says he has done “every drug known to man.” Crystal meth saved his life, he says, explaining that it once kept his heart from stopping when he was electrocuted while trimming trees. However, his only drug now is caffeine. He doesn’t even drink anymore.

“God put us here to live,” he said. “The whole world’s in a hurry to die. I decided I’d help people find a reason to live.”

Craig makes his way back to St. John’s Breadline around 2:30 for “the afternoon feeding,” as he calls it. He says the morning and afternoon meals are too close together because he isn’t hungry yet after the first meal. Many homeless people have gripes about the schedules and rules imposed by the various agencies that help their population. For example, they complain that the shelters require people to be in by a certain time, hand in their phones before bed and leave too early in the morning. Craig has an elaborate plan to build a tent city for the homeless on vacant land in Springfield, but so far no one with the means to do it has expressed interest.

As winter approaches, Craig is making other plans. He needs surgery to remove the painful bone spurs on his heels that have kept him from working, but he says he has nowhere to stay for several weeks while he recovers. Before long, he hopes to hitchhike to Ohio, where his brother lives, so he can get the surgery. Once he gets healed, he wants to get a metal salvage license and make money selling aluminum scrap.

Even if he gets back on his feet, Craig says he’ll come back to Springfield because he needs to look out for someone here.

“I promised somebody I’d be here for them,” he said. “I’m gonna keep my word.”

Contact Patrick Yeagle at [email protected].