CHAPTER 1

THE ORDINARY WORLD

My intent for this book was to research homelessness in abrand new way so that by the end, my readers and I wouldhave a real understanding of what the word means—and notjust in a technical sense. This book grasps at the emotional scope and depthof the concept.

I started by reading a couple of books on the history of homelessnessin America, hoping that an understanding of the past would lead to anunderstanding of the present. I learned that homelessness has been aphenomenon in our society since the dawn of Western culture on thiscontinent. It was also present in European society long before we colonizedthe North American continent. But interestingly enough, the homelesspopulation exploded during the Industrial Revolution and has basicallynot subsided since.

Some of the books I read suggested that the birth of large industryfueled the exponential increase in the rates and numbers of homelesspersons in America. Factories employed large numbers of people, and thenbecause of seasonal demands, increased efficiency, or economic conditions,laid them off. These workers then were released in large numbers into thecities that could hardly reabsorb them.

In addition to the powerful flux of supply and demand during thisperiod, there was also a change from rural to urban lifestyles. Farm life wasdisappearing—for it was also becoming industrialized—and city life wasgrowing. If you wanted to work, you needed to move to the city. Some ofthese books on the history of homelessness in America suggested that thischange further fueled homelessness, as many persons were just not suitedfor factory work, but it was the only work to be found.

The introduction of interchangeable parts created a move towardgreater conformity in our society. As all mechanical parts had to conform,it was not unreasonable to assume that those who made them had to dothe same. To many, repetitious tasks done for long hours inside dark,stuffy buildings simply did not suit their nature, and they often couldn'tor wouldn't hold down such jobs.

And of course, wars occurred. More importantly, wars ended. Atthe end of each war in U.S. history, there was a surge in homelessness assoldiers returned and couldn't find work or were unable to work.

These theories made sense to me, but they still didn't give me anunderstanding of what homelessness means today. They instead focusedon the many academic aspects, possible historical causes, facts and figures.While useful, this background research doesn't explain why Joe X or JaneY is on Z Street corner today.

I couldn't just write off the idea of homelessness by blaming it onmodernization. Factory conditions today are far better than during thedawn of the Industrial Revolution, but homeless numbers are not. City lifeis better, too. We've had a century to adjust. And not all homeless peopleare veterans. The causes just could not be that simple.

Still, the research I did had value to inform me that homelessnessaffects many different types of people and has many different causes. Ihad a new appreciation for the diversity of the issues I was about to tackle.But I still felt that I was looking in through the peephole of some frontdoor, trying to get a feel for the house inside. So I kept reading, findingbooks that documented the stories of homeless persons. Their stories werefascinating and sad. I felt great sympathy for the individuals and got lostin detail after shocking detail. After all those stories, I thought I'd have apretty good understanding of homelessness.

But I didn't.

I was still left with a feeling that I didn't know the people behindthese stories. Most important to understanding homelessness is witnessingthe people, knowing their stories personally and coming to learn howthey are related. What connections allow all these different people tofall under the category of homeless? And what does that category evenmean?

Socially, I realized that the people I came in contact with most dayswere all basically the same. This is not to say that they made the sameamount of money, dressed the same, and thought the exact same thoughtsas me. Rather, I mean they all made money, bought their clothes in retailstores, and digested roughly the same media. The choice in my world fortonight's dinner is to eat in or eat out. Pondering those two options leavesno room to consider a third: don't eat at all. Or a fourth: eat, but out of atrash can. Like me before I started to research, you may not notice thesegivens in our similar worldview, because they seem so ordinary. To thisextent, I remained blind to the larger picture.

From this, my plan to understand homelessness emerged. I thought I'dbegin by interviewing homeless persons and those who work with them—notabout their stories, but about who they really are and what they thinkabout homelessness. After all, if anyone knows what homelessness is, thesepeople do. It started as a hunch, a shot in the dark. I wanted an answer tomy question but didn't even fully understand what I was asking.

Unlike other books on the homeless, I did not want to interviewpeople without shelter about the details of their lives. Instead, I wanted tointerview them on their thoughts on life. I wanted to find out what makesthem different from—or the same as—you and me. And since insight isa mater of perspective, I was fairly sure they would have new insights dueto their different perspectives. I hoped to gain a new vantage point—thevantage point I needed to properly interpret the histories and stories ofhomelessness. By the end, I might actually understand the concept ofhomelessness itself.

There is no growth in understanding unless you dare to look into theunknown and outside your usual reality. If ours is the ordinary world,theirs is a special world—not necessarily better or worse but runningparallel. While a real part of our society, the homeless are anything butpart of our daily lives. Even if we see them daily, we don't know them. Justhow separated or connected the homeless really are from the rest of us wasyet another question I could not answer. Were these worlds really separate,or was I just blind to the connections?

Speak to the average, normal, and ordinary and you will learn whatyou already know: the average, normal, and ordinary. If you think aboutit, this is what we do most of the time. We speak to people who share ourgeneral worldview. But homelessness is a whole other world, and to us whohave housing, it is anything but ordinary.

Unsatisfied by facts and histories, I was determined that my bookwould focus on the philosophies of those who dare to live outside the normand those who dare to work with them.

I considered that the special world could teach me a lot about theordinary world.

CALL TO ADVENTURE

ME, HOME: Monday, January 5, 2009, 10:00 a.m.

It is the first day of the rest of my life, a day that seems quiteuncertain at the moment. I awake with a rush of worries and concerns.This feeling is all too familiar lately. I recently left my corporate job,no longer able to justify staying in a position that demanded long hoursand was of little personal interest. I don't know where my next paycheckwill come from or if I might also be homeless in the near future.

But today, I have an appointment to meet with Jessica Berg, theexecutive director of the Lodestar Daily Resource Center (LDRC), LLC,in Phoenix, Arizona. From what I've gathered, LDRC is a type of centralservices center for homeless persons. The director was very receptive tothe idea of my book. She felt that interviewing willing clients would givethem a much-needed voice and act as a type of therapy. She also hoped itwould help to raise public awareness—that is, if it ever got published. Weboth know that is a long shot—but my whole life feels like a long shot atthe moment.

So I have a contact, and an accommodating one at that. It has takenme weeks of e-mails and phone calls to find someone interested in myproject, so I should be excited to get started. But instead, I awake in a less-than-greatmood. My back had gone out in a bad way a few days earlier,and I don't even want to try to get out of bed. I wonder how long I willsuffer its crippling effects. The last two times this happened, it was monthsbefore I could get out of a chair properly.

I lay in bed now, belabored over feelings of unemployment, injury, andloneliness from a recently ended relationship. I'm not sure I want to startwriting a book—and will there be a book anyway? I only have a glimmerof an idea of what I am looking for.

Curiosity may not sell books, but for me, it's what writes them. So Ipry myself out of bed, shower, and leave my middle-class home in northernPhoenix to head downtown. As I turn off 7th Avenue onto WashingtonStreet, things start to change.

The buildings, if anything, improve. Downtown Phoenix has beenwell attended to by city planners in recent years. There is the CarnegieLibrary, a turn-of-the-last-century red brick structure in the center of abeautifully maintained park with large old trees towering above. Locatedacross the street is the quaint Arizona Skies Café and Coffee Bar. Thecapitol is just a mile in front of me to the west, and other well-maintainedcivic buildings are all around.

The people are what I most notice changing. All of a sudden, therethey are: homeless persons, or those whom I presume to be homeless. Theirnumbers increase as I turn onto 12th Avenue; they number in the hundredsby the time I reach LDRC. I have to slow my Honda Fit down to a crawlso as not to hit anyone.

I pass through the sea of people, through the open gates, and am struckby the sheer size of this place. The LDRC is just one building on what Inow realize is a very large spread called the Human Services Campus. I wasexpecting a single building like the shelter where my father volunteered,but I feel as if I'm traveling out of the orbit of the ordinary world andentering a strange new one. It occurs to me that we spend billions of dollarslooking for life on other planets when we don't even recognize all of thelife right in our own backyards. I have lived in Phoenix for 18 years andnever known this place was here—in the middle of downtown.

The Human Services Campus looks like a typical community collegecampus. Stepping out of the car, I feel like an urban astronaut on this coolJanuary day. One small step for man, one giant step for a man with a hurtback. The smell of cigarette smoke hits me at once. I look at the other carsin the parking lot, mostly the cars of homeless persons seeking servicesthere. My car sticks out like a sore thumb. I know it's brand new, but thisis the only time in my entire life that my car is the nicest, most expensiveone in the entire parking lot. In Scottsdale, my car would be one of theleast expensive in the parking lot. No one seems to notice, but I do.

I walk across the lawn toward the front doors of the LDRC locatedin the center of the campus. Laptop bag over my shoulder, strollingtoward the institutional double doors, my feeling of being out of placeincreases. I am struck by the diversity surrounding me. Each person hereis radically different from his or her neighbor. They each dress in a waythat is completely unique to everyone else. It is as if every single person isfrom a different era, past and/or future.

I've lived a lot of life in my 39 years and am therefore shocked to feel soill at ease, nervous, alien. And it is all coming from me. The people I passby greet me with smiles, hellos and even sometimes hollow indifference,but no animosity—not even curiosity. Not one single person looks at me asthough I don't belong here. And I've been in places where they make it veryclear you don't belong. For some strange reason, that type of fear bothersme much less than my present alienation. The fear of danger bothers meless than the fear of being an outcast, of not fitting in.

The atmosphere changes as I enter Lodestar Day Resource Centerthrough the double institutional style metal doors. It smells warm andstale in here—not exactly filthy, but like wet dirt. In certain Scottsdalelocations, one is overwhelmed with aromas too, each sweeter and sappierthan the last. I tell Ryan, a young guy at the front desk, that I have ameeting with Ms. Berg and take a seat in one of the few available chairsnearby. There are two rows of colored plastic chairs—maybe 20 in all—withadditional seating in the form of a very long bench built into thedividing wall between the reception area from the large main lobby. Thewall is less than four feet high, so I can easily crane over it to view themany round tables and chairs beyond. Two of the center's walls are entirelymade of thick glass and framed with metal. They do little to mitigate theindustrial atmosphere.

And of course, the lobby is filled with people, looking as though theyare from every place and space as they are filling every place and space.

I am immersed in the sounds of hundreds of conversations, cultureshocked as I try to take it all in. I look down a long hallway that extendsfrom the lobby to the right. It ends in double doors, and staff membersoccasionally enter or exit through them, whipping out an access card beforedisappearing. As I watch, the left one opens and out walks a young, petitewoman in her thirties, with a fashion sense that could be described as'professional bohemian.' She looks at the waiting area from a distance for abrief moment before her eyes land on me. She smiles knowingly. I don't knowif it is the look on my face or fact that she recognizes everyone but me.

"Michael?"

I smile and nod. Her voice is sweet, relaxed.

"I'm Jessica Berg."

She looks like she might belong behind the counter of a boutiquecoffee shop—not an attribute I would expect from someone who dealson a daily basis with the rugged realities of the homeless, whatever thoserealities are.

Jessica speaks quietly, clearly, and with great articulation. She is excitedto share. I have the crazy thought that she has the power of a fairy: delicateand light, yet also charming, strong and fearless.

As we walk together amongst the clients, Jessica explains that theHuman Service Campus is arguably the first homeless campus formed inthe United States. In November 2005, Maricopa County decided it mightbe a good idea to group a number of homeless-related organizations andservices together in the same geographic area. The 25,000-square-footfacility known as the LDRC is meant to be the liaison point for directingpeople to the resources they need. On a sprawling 11-acre campus, that isno small task.

Jessica explains that the name Lodestar comes from one of the maincontributing foundations (Arizona State University Lodestar Center forPhilanthropy & Nonprofit Innovation), and is also a term for a guidingstar, a tool used by sailors for navigation. Lodestar is a point of reference,a guide in choppy seas. Clients can come to the LDRC and get directed tovarious other service organizations on and around campus, not to mentionwhat seems like a plethora of services offered by the LDRC itself. Jessicafurther explains she refers to the homeless people they serve as clientsbecause she and her staff work for them, just like any other business.Apparently it's about "service, not charity." And no, I don't fully get whatthat means.

The campus has five anchor agencies: Central Arizona Shelter Services(CASS), Maricopa County Healthcare for the Homeless, NorthwestOrganization for Voluntary Alternatives (NOVA)—Safe Haven, St. Josephthe Worker, and St. Vincent de Paul.

The campus is a massively ambitious operation meant to coordinate andaddress every aspect of the immediate and long-term homeless challenge.It's truly astounding in it's scope and vision. And Jessica hints that theLDRC helps clients navigate the campus and even life itself.

All of the main five agencies stand alone as separate entities underLDRC's umbrella. Jessica explains that she has no authority over muchof the campus, even many of the agencies located within the LDRCbuilding. The campus is a "campus of cooperation," she says. If that's thecase, I instantly see why Jessica is perfect for the job. Her real title shouldbe CEO of Cooperation.

Jessica continues walking me around the LDRC and I continue to feeloverwhelmed. I expected to see a shelter that housed and fed a few hundredhomeless people. I am now in the center of a gigantic homeless campuswith hundreds (perhaps a thousand) of homeless persons. Up until thispoint in my life, I've never seen a total of a thousand homeless persons inmy life and never more than a dozen homeless persons in the same place.

When I got in my car just an hour ago I was wondering if there wasreally a book idea to be found here. But now Jessica is spewing out morerelevant information than I can record. The side questions are endless. Ionly wonder which ones to pursue.