The City of Brotherly Love

In the late ‘80s, toward the end of the Reagan administration, I traveled to Philadelphia with my wife, who was attending a seminar at the University of Pennsylvania. We lived in a dorm room just a couple of blocks off-campus. At the time the area directly adjacent to the university was a ghetto populated largely by low-income, no-income and homeless folks. I was not prepared for what I saw there. Whenever we walked in the business district, especially in the mornings, we had to step around people sleeping on the sidewalk. There were usually 8 to 12 men and women asleep on a typical city block. A few had sleeping bags, some had thin blankets and several had only newspapers for cover. Bullet-proof windows reinforced with iron bars separated customers from clerks in liquor and convenience stores. The price of any given item at the single neighborhood supermarket was 25% to 35% higher than the same item in suburban stores.

There was a film festival at the Philadelphia Federal Reserve Bank while we were there. We mistakenly went to the rear colonnade first, as opposed to the front, where the main entrance was located. The entire area--all the steps and the landing itself, was literally packed with homeless families, most with open cooking fires and small bundles of possessions. I was shocked. I couldn't believe it. The Federal Reserve Bank? A leading symbol of our nation's economic power? In the city of brotherly love?

I was homeless for part of the second and third years of the Reagan presidency. I can recall it as if it were yesterday. It’s an experience that becomes seared into one’s psyche. At the time I had a part-time job in a bindery and was studying full time at the University of Alaska Anchorage. I had been living in an apartment in the Fairview District of Anchorage and came home one winter night to find all my possessions on the sidewalk, two policemen standing over them. My rent had been due the previous day. I hadn’t seen the landlord for several days. The rent money was in my wallet. The cops informed me they were assisting the landlord in my eviction. I told them I had not even been given an eviction notice and they said under the law the landlord was not required to give me a notice. I knew that was not true but try to explain the law to a cop. Through Legal Aid I later sued the city and the landlord for an illegal eviction. The judge ordered the police department to train their cops to never assist landlords in evictions again—that it was illegal for them to do so.

I had a locker in the UAA sports center. I lived out of it. I used hot water from bathroom sink spigots to make instant coffee. I survived. I saved money from my job and rented another apartment and I continued to work toward my MFA at the university.

In 1986 I met my wife. We got married in 1987. She literally saved my life. Her love and encouragement have been vital to my development as an artist.

Late in 2005 I was fortunate enough to get a commission from Catholic Social Services to design a donor wall for the new Brother Francis Shelter in Anchorage, a shelter for the homeless. It was a labor of love. The woodwork and engraving on the wall was done by homeless veterans at the Veterans Domiciliary in Anchorage. What could be more perfect than that? I feel the circle has been closed for me. What can I do to close the circle for other homeless people?