UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN
Friday, December 6,1996
6A
homeless
Continued from Page 1
"Well, thank you anyway," she says cheerfully.
the next man, a little younger and dressed in a sweater and Birkent stocks, approaches.
"Hey, could you spare any change today?" Hill asks.
He flips her a quarter. Wendy smiles and pockets the coin.
Some call them "gutter punks." Tattooed and pierced, their hair dyed and clothes dark, they call themselves "squatters" or "travelers."
Some survive by panhandling. Others have learned to work the system for food stamps and handouts. All are homeless, transient and young.
A common sight in big cities, squatters have recently discovered the friendly, Midwestern town of Lawrence, Kan. They serve as a reminder of the urbanization of a once sleepy college
"It's easy to be homeless in Lawrence because you can usually eat three square meals a day."
- Mandy,
Lawrence Squatter
Edmée Rodriguez/ KANSAN
Edinée Rodriguez/KANANI Mandy, 20, watches her dog, Onyx, in front of the Replay Lounge, 946 Massachusetts St.
town. But as they gather at their only "home" under the Massachusetts Street bridge each night, they sound surprisingly like any group of young people in their 20s
Twenty years old and homeless since the age of 15, Hill is one of the squatters along Massachusetts Street during the day. She makes her living panhandling. Her occupation has taken her from New York City to New Orleans. For the better part of the summer, she lived in Dallas. This fall, it was Lawrence.
"I myself, I panhandle for booze," she said. "I'm not going to lie. If someone asks what I spend my money on, I tell them straight up what I'm using it for. But I'm always really nice about it."
Hill said that the best place to panhandle in Lawrence was Massachusetts Street. One of her favorite spots is in front of the Replay Lounge, 946 Massachusetts St.
Jack Rosser, day manager at the Replay, has spent many afternoons watching the squatters hang out on the bench in front of the bar. Although he hates the panhandling, Rosser has mixed feelings about the squatters.
"They're not all bad. That's for sure," he said. "But I don't like panhandling at all, and we don't condo it here. Unfortunately, a lot of people now associate the bar with panhandlers."
Scott, a 25-year-old from Oklahoma City, worked at a local printing company while his girlfriend, Mandy, a 20-year-old from Topeka, Kan., watched their two dogs. Chuder, a 20-year-old from San Francisco, and Christina, a 20-year-old from West Palm Beach, Fla., lived off food stamps and money from re-selling clothing they found in dumpsters.
At least four of the squatters living under the bridge this fall fit Rosser's description of non-pan-handling squatters. All preferred to not reveal their last names and all recently moved on when night temperatures fell below freezing
But it's the few bad seeds who give the squatters a bad name, Rosser said.
Mandy, Scott, Chunder and Christina agreed that Lawrence was a good place to be homeless. The town is small and walkable, and the people are friendly — including the police.
"It's easy to generalize them," he said. "You see somebody who looks like them and immediately associate them with panhandling. But a lot of them have jobs and are just living a different lifestyle."
"None of us really panhandle," Mandy said. "Lawrence is a small town, so you see the same faces on the street every day. If they know your face, they're not going to give you any money."
"The cops here are humans, not pigs," Scott said. "Whenever they have a problem with us, they actually talk to us politely."
They also liked Lawrence's safe streets and that hard drugs were not easy to find. But best of all, the squatters said that they ate well in Lawrence.
"It's easy to be homeless in Lawrence because you can usually eat three square meals a day." Mandy said. "In the morning you can find baggels in the dumpster, and in the afternoon there's a meal at either LINK or the Salvation Army."
Lawrence Interdominational Nutrition Kitchen and the Salvation Army provide free meals for Lawrence's homeless population on alternating days of the week.
Betsy Anderson, office manager of the Salvation Army, 946 New Hampshire St., said that in the past two years, she had noticed a significant increase in the amount of squatters passing through Lawrence.
"In the last year, they have really become prevalent. Most of them are just passing through on their way to California or New York," she said. "Lawrence is right in the middle, and because it's a small town, it's easier to get help here."
Although Lawrence may seem welcoming to the squatters, some downtown merchants see their presence as a blemish on the town's complexion.
Bob Schumm, who owns Massachusetts Street Delticessetts, 941 Massachusetts St., and Buffalo Bob's Smokehouse, 719 Massachusetts St., said that squatters had occasionally tried to use the restroom and telephone in Mass Street Deli, but that he had told them they were not welcome.
"I won't allow them to come in looking the way they do." he said. "We'll ask them to go down to McDonald's. They look better at McDonald's."
Schumm said that he had received letters from other Massachusetts Street business owners that asked downtown merchants to organize a collective response to panhandlers. But so far, responses have been limited to individual stores.
"They are dirty, filthy, horrible looking people who don't fit in with my clientele," said Schumm, a former city commissioner.
Despite any persecution the squatters meet downtown during the day, they know they will be welcomed by friends under the Kansas River bridge at the end of the day.
Schumm said that he would not even let the squatters come in as paying customers.
They gather under the bridge's north end. The colder the night, the earlier they make their way down to their sandy home overlooking the river. Cars rush by as
the squatters walk across the bridge in twos or threes. Before long, they reach the end of the bridge and then descend from the levee. The rising smoke from the glowing campfire tells them they are home.
"This is my family," Christina said. "We all take care of each share, what we have."
A pile of dusty blankets, odds and ends of food bought with food stamps, and a few tree trunks that have drifted up from the river constitute their living space. On a good night, somebody has some liquor. The squatters take turns swigging from the bottle and joke with each other around the fire.
"The other night we made a big old fire and had a food stamp party," Mandy said. "We all had steak for dinner."
Christina sits next to the space where the Kansas River bridge meets the ground. Anywhere from two to 10 squatters slept in this space each night.
But some nights, the mood under the bridge is more somber. On a night when the low is forecasted to drop below freezing, Christina and Mandy sit under blankets gazing at the fire. Scott reads a book by the fire, while Wendy reads the funnies from a newspaper she has found. Chunder kicks around the campsite, looking for firewood.
"I've never been homeless by choice," he said. "But now I have a circle of friends that is 500 people or more. I can go just about any-where and find somebody I know."
Chuler left home at the age of 15, a year after his dad was killed by the police while attempting to commit suicide. When Chuler left San Francisco, he was running from the law. It was either leave or spend time in jail, he said.
In a town with good schools and abundant work opportunities, the life of a squatter can seem illogical, indulgent and even selfish. Their reasons for living this lifestyle range from dull to depressing.
Other squatters are not so romantic about their homelessness.
Wendy left home because her stepfather was abusive and her mother anathetic.
"I wake up 10 or 15 times a night," Mandy said. "I always get paranoid that the bridge is going to cave in on me."
Scott left Oklahoma City because he was sick of it. Traveling was fun for awhile. But now, with no rental history when landlords ask for references, Scott is
Sometimes the squatters fall asleep next to the fire, but usually they sleep in the crawl space where the bridge meets the ground. The squatters said that anywhere from two to 10 people sleep under the bridge each night. Although it's dry and out of the wind, the squatters say the whir of cars passing inches above them makes it difficult to sleep.
"It was the same old bullshit." Wendy said. "My mom was young and wanted to do her own thing. I felt like I was in the way. I just couldn't live with her."
wendy sits under the bridge with a bag of wine. Wendy said that she has to drink every day or she will have hallucinations and vomit.
Edmée Rodriguez/ KANSAN
getting sick of being homeless
"I'm not too happy about it. It's really stressful," he said. "I bust my ass all day at work and still don't have a place to go. And the worst part about being homeless is just the sheer boredom."
Wendy, too, realizes that her lifestyle of moving when her luck runs low or the temperature drops has led her to a dead end.
"I'm getting too old for this," she said. "All the traveling used to fun and exciting, but now I want a place. I want a paycheck."
When winter blew into Lawrence, Wendy headed toward the highway, hoping to hitchhike to Santa Cruz, Calif. She talked about putting herself in detox.
Scott returned to Oklahoma City for the winter. His girlfriend, Mandy, went back to Topeka. Chunder and Christina hopped a train destined for warmer
weather.
Although the faces and the stories of the squatters change with the seasons, their presence may be a permanent fixture in Lawrence.
Anderson, office manager of the Salvation Army, said that she could not foresee a decrease in the number of squatters in Lawrence in the future.
"I think it will be a continuous thing," she said. "I don't see it slacking. It's just something we're going to have to deal with."
Wendy, Scott, Mandy, Chunder, and Christina said that they would probably return to Lawrence at some point. But the future is an abstract concept for most of the squatters. When Christina ponders where she'll be in 10 years, she laughs.
"I don't think that far in advance," Christina said. "I want to be alive."
Edmée Rodriguez/KANSAN
Chunder, 20, and Scott, 25, hang out in front of the Replay Lounge, 946 Massachusetts St. Although the Replay does not support panchandling, the management does not refuse their business as paying customers.