Street Smarts
Life for the local homeless population isn't easy, but it is worth protecting
By Nathan R. Huff
Standing in an alleyway between two downtown buildings, homeless street musician "Colorado Timmy" compares Los Gatos to the other cities he's lived in during nearly two decades on the streets. Holding a cold, 24-ounce can of beer, the one-time hi-fi stereo salesman squints his eyes in half-drunk concentration. "You don't bring people in from the outside," Timmy, whose real last name is Kelly, says. "People protect what's here."
What's worth protecting for Kelly and the other 10 to 12 homeless men and women who call Los Gatos their permanent home may not seem like much to others. But to those who have spent nights freezing in Oregon, been attacked by gangs in San Jose, and been mugged by fellow "tramps," in Santa Cruz, Los Gatos is a place where the homeless feel relatively safe.
"We had a few people out in the street that were violent and caused problems," says Dave Harris, a well-put-together, spectacled man going on his sixth year on the streets of Los Gatos. "But they're gone now." Gone, of course, means they were picked up on outstanding warrants and are now locked up--for the time being.
Harris, who claims he has a well-stocked, all-weather camp in town, says, while being homeless always carries a stigma, in Los Gatos the small, and relatively benign homeless population makes for a fairly peaceful existence.
"You go to San Jose and you get robbed, you get beat up, the cops stop you," Harris says. "If you're [in Los Gatos] for a few years, at least you're accepted to some level."
Los Gatos' homeless population resembles a loose-knit family. They share food and cigarettes with each other, worry when someone fails to show up at St. Luke's weekly soup kitchen, and, most recently, mourn their losses together.
The local homeless population was well represented at the Oct. 31 funeral of Peter Thorpe, a 54-year-old longtime Los Gatan. Thorpe was found Oct. 12, on a Vasona Park bench, an empty bottle of liquor in the grass next to him. The man, who everyone described as "friendly and funny," died sometime during the night due to a combination of alcohol, cold and existing medical problems.
Standing in the St. Luke's courtyard during the weekly soup kitchen, Harris is smoking hand-rolled cigarettes, joking with homeless artist Vic Sakellar, Kelly, a homeless couple by the names of Martha Johnson and Chris Blatnick, and several others. Thorpe, who considered St. Luke's home, has been gone a month.
On benches and tables in the church's courtyard are grocery bags with cans of chili, stew, tuna, fruit and candy bars, all provided by St. Luke's through donations to the Salvation Army. Their conversation could just as easily be mistaken for one occurring in the Los Gatos Coffee Roasting Company just a block away. The deadlocked election and the unusually cold weather dominate the dialogue.
Avoiding the cold weather is a topic Los Gatos homeless are well-versed in, but one they see no need to talk about. Each of them has his or her own technique--Harris has a small stove and a tent at his hidden camp; Sakellar has a load of sleeping bags and mats, his two dogs, Pluto and Sheppie, and a shot of peppermint schnapps before bed--the only alcohol he consumes; Kelly has a coat he recently picked up from the donation bin at St. Luke's, an old battered hat, and a whole bloodstream full of booze.
"The rain will catch you once in a while," Sakellar says. "But you learn real fast."
To help battle the cold, the Rotary Club of Los Gatos recently donated $1,000 to St. Luke's to buy more sleeping bags for Los Gatos' local homeless. Sakellar, Harris, Johnson and Kelly--all of whom had been harping on the shortage of warm coats and sleeping bags prior to the donation, express gratitude for Rotary's generosity.
Photograph by Kathy De La Torre
Timmy 'Colorado Timmy' Kelly, 45, has been on the streets for nearly two decades. He says he generally keeps to himself.
But Rotary is poised to go much further. For the first time since a drive to install public showers blossomed and then fizzled two years ago, a concerted effort is afoot to provide more basic services for Los Gatos' homeless. Rotarian Joe Varazzo, working closely with St. Luke's, is trying to get the club to sponsor a number of projects, including providing showers, bathrooms, seven days of meal service, on-call counseling and an emergency shelter.
The question does arise, for both the homeless and care providers, Would better services bring a horde of area homeless into this quiet piece of the valley--something neither the existing homeless nor the community at large wants to see?
"I think that's probably the biggest concern everyone has," Varazzo says, referring to both the homeless and potential service providers. "But I think we're gonna have to cross that bridge when we come to it. There's going to have to be rules, controls."
There currently exists a patchwork of services for the local homeless population, which church officials estimate to be between 10 and 20 permanent residents. St. Luke's certainly leads the way by providing weekly hot lunches, bags of canned goods, and sanctuary during particularly difficult times. Outreach coordinator Jo Greiner has expanded the services for her "clients," as much as possible with the limited resources available.
Other churches, including St. Mary's, United Methodist and Calvary, occasionally offer vouchers for food and gas. St. Mary's also works to help connect homeless with county and state resources, providing case management services for those who otherwise would not be able to navigate their way through the social services bureaucracy.
The town itself provides nothing for its small homeless population. The Interfaith Council of Los Gatos approached the town in February 1999, hoping the town would contribute for public showers. That effort died quickly, with officials blaming funding and liability problems.
Compared to neighboring cities, Los Gatos has little to offer its homeless. Cupertino runs a "rotating shelter," where local churches take turns housing the homeless population. According to Varazzo, the program has been up and running for a year and has seen no increase in homeless numbers.
San Jose is home to the Emergency Housing Consortium, a network of services and shelters that serves more than 10,000 men, women and children in the valley. But, despite the fact that Los Gatos offers nothing similar, its permanent homeless population isn't going anywhere.
Photograph by Kathy De La Torre
Christopher Blatnick (left) and Martha Johnson hold hands as they enter St. Luke's Church for a memorial service for Peter Thorpe, who died in October on a bench at Vasona Lake County Park.
Now the Rotary Club is attempting to dramatically improve the level of services for Los Gatos' homeless. More than $5,500 has already been raised by local churches, and Rotary has donated $3,500 to St. Luke's. The Rotary board of directors also voted unanimously to dedicate all the money raised at the club's annual crab feed to the project. The event takes place Jan. 20, at St. Mary's. Cost is $30 and, according to chairman Darrell Monda, the club has asked St. Luke's to assume responsibility for distributing the funds.
Varazzo said that if enough money can be raised to pay for materials, a contractor has already volunteered to do the necessary work to build showers, laundry facilities, and some sort of emergency shelter at a local church.
Greiner, who describes Varazzo as a "mover and a shaker," says she has already noticed an increased awareness on the part of the public in recent months. She has received numerous calls from both parishioners and community members who wonder what they can do to help out, both now and after the holiday season.
"The community is really starting to get it," Greiner says, explaining that a recent influx of donations is allowing her to provide more for Los Gatos' homeless. "Today I'm going out and buying 20 sleeping bags and tents--I never would have been able to do that before."
Greiner also doubts that offering showers, regular meals and other services will bring more homeless into town. She notes that the population is smaller now than it was 10 years ago, due to eight deaths in the last decade. The remaining homeless, she says, are very protective of Los Gatos, and especially the church.
"I doubt very much that it will be a problem," Greiner says. "I can tell you right now that our clients won't encourage it."
Standing in front of Mountain Charley's, listening to Colorado Timmy bang out a creative version of the Rolling Stones' "Dead Flowers," Sakellar and Johnson say the shelter would be something they would use regularly.
"I'd feel safer at the moment," Johnson, whose boyfriend was arrested for hitting her the night before, says. The middle-aged woman says she has always had the protection and company of a homeless man during her time on the streets. Johnson, who came to Los Gatos from San Jose, says she is in no hurry to go back to her camp tonight. In the morning, if it's not too cold, Johnson will use the creek as her showering facility.
Opinions differ on the subject of services--Sakellar says the homeless could use a space to operate a self-run thrift store to fund some sort of shelter. But Harris excuses the idea as impossible, saying too many people wouldn't get along. "I can't change them, you can't change them," Harris says to Sakellar. "Only they can change it."
The homeless express varying degrees of concern over the possibility of additional homeless migrating to Los Gatos, lured by expanded services. When one usually has to concentrate on finding the next meal and a safe bed, it's difficult to predict long-term outcomes. Those asked say a shelter would, at the very least, play a critical role during nasty weather.
Photograph by Kathy De La Torre
Timmy Kelly tunes his guitar outside Mountain Charley's while his friend Vic Sakellar keeps him company. Kelly sings and plays to earn spare change from local patrons.
Back on N. Santa Cruz Avenue, Kelly picks up the pace with a cover of the Stones' "Satisfaction." Pedestrians walk by, occasionally offering a smile, but no change. Kelly says on a good night, he can pick up $25-40 playing in front of the downtown bars. But not tonight. Kelly is a little too intoxicated, and his broken rib is hindering his singing ability. When Martha tells him she's "got something for him," Kelly packs up his guitar, pledging to come back when it's a little more crowded.
The two head off to drink together somewhere out of public and police view. None of the homeless will say a word against the Los Gatos-Monte Sereno Police Department. But at the same time, they're not in any hurry to meet up with the boys in blue. Police say the majority of homeless-related problems come from transients, but the local population accumulates its own share of misdemeanors, as well. Open containers, drunk in public and public exposure--a.k.a. urinating in public--are the most common citations.
Kelly says he's yet to get a "DIP" ticket--drinking in public--in Los Gatos, but he's careful to drop out of public view when he opens a tall can. Other Los Gatos homeless have been less careful or lucky, depending on how one looks at it. Kendall Roberts, a longtime Los Gatos resident, says he has been arrested 200 to 300 times in the last 20 years.
Roberts, eating a can of tuna at St. Luke's on a nippy Tuesday morning, says he just got out of jail at 2 a.m. that morning. He has been sentenced to nine years probation and served as long as 90 days in Elmwood Correctional Center. A week later, while listening to Kelly play outside Mountain Charley's, Sakellar says Roberts is back in jail.
Harris says getting tangled in the justice system is among the homeless population's biggest problems. Harris has been in jail in Milpitas, Elmwood and in the state of Texas, all for open container tickets. A $150 open container ticket he received several years ago has now blossomed into a $5,000 warrant, all because he missed his court date. "If I'm caught, I'll end up going to jail," he says. "How am I going to pay for it?"
Harris also takes issue with people who believe the homeless like to be arrested because jail provides a roof and a hot meal. Jails are more physically threatening than the streets, Harris says, and anyone could "eat better out of a dumpster" than in prison.
Photograph by Kathy De La Torre
Vic Sakellar walks his two dogs back to camp for the night. He says he depends on them to let him know if someone's approaching his camp.
Churches such as St. Mary's attempt to connect homeless with resources to deal with criminal justice issues, as well as the challenges of obtaining identification documents and other paperwork necessary to find a job. Jane Ferguson, director of pastoral care and community ministry at St. Mary's, says navigating through the local and state bureaucracies is overwhelming for most homeless people.
"There are lots of resources, but it's an incredible complicated system," Ferguson says. "If you don't have it all in order, they hang up the phone."
Harris, who occasionally does under-the-table carpentry work, says he has tried to work with agencies to qualify for assistance, but to no avail. If you miss one appointment or can't come up with the necessary documents, you're back to stage one, he says.
"I have an advocacy group that's supposedly working for me, but they don't do anything," Harris says. "You keep getting built up and you get the rug swept out from under you."
Johnson, sitting in the courtyard at St. Luke's, says she just acquired an identification card and Social Security card. She plans to apply at Safeway and Walgreens. Blatnick says he's also trying to get a job. With his subsequent arrest, one can only assume that plan has been put on hold indefinitely.
Each homeless person scrapes together enough money to survive in his or her own way. Several individuals receive federal disability checks or food stamps, including Harris. For 20 years a carpenter and cabinet store owner "with a house and a sports car," Harris says a serious injury six years ago left him unable to work regularly. Suffering from cirrhosis of the liver, he still picks up occasional odd jobs, but he says the prospects for really getting off the streets are slim to none.
"When you don't have anything to start with, how do you build something?" Harris asks. "In an area where it takes $1,200 a month for a one-bedroom, what is $8 an hour going to get you?"
Vic Sakellar takes a drag on his cigarette in downtown Los Gatos before heading back to his camp for the night.
Photograph by Kathy De La Torre
Other homeless who work, like Sakellar, agree that the jobs available to homeless aren't the jobs that get one off the street--but they do provide enough cash to meet the most basic of needs. Sakellar cleans up for several downtown business owners, none of whom he is willing to name, since he feels they are doing him a service. He also sells the occasional painting.
"We have our own personal code not to panhandle," Sakellar says. "But others don't, and they bring the perception of us down."
Roberts says he doesn't actively panhandle, though he subsists mostly on what people give him and what he finds. "Sometimes strangers will come up and give me a few bucks and say 'go get something to eat,' " Roberts says. Asked if he spends it on food or drink, the self-admitted alcoholic says food. "They're going out of their way to try and help me, and the least I can do is respect them," he says.
Roberts still holds out hope of getting off the street. He says he has an appointment with a counselor to help get his high school diploma. Once he succeeds in getting that, he says he'd like to become a long haul trucker. Unfortunately for Roberts, he would spend his appointment day in jail on an old warrant.
Whether Roberts will ever get off the streets is a fair question. The same could be said about a number of others. Alcoholism, depression and other diseases appear in Los Gatos' homeless population just as in the rest of the country's. What works for one homeless person may not work for another.
Photograph by Dai Sugano
Martha Johnson tries on a pair of shoes before going into the memorial service for Peter Thorpe at St. Luke's.
Sakellar, who plays a quiet leadership role within the group, is quick to say that the homeless can't be treated as a body. "No one homeless speaks for another homeless," Sakellar says, waiting in St. Luke's courtyard for Thorpe's memorial service. "We're here to pay respect to one individual man."
Still, the common thread of need runs through the homeless community, and none of its members would deny that. The holidays, despite the cold, are usually a better time for homeless because people are more charitable. But once Christmas passes, the homeless population, particularly one as small as Los Gatos', is more easily overlooked.
Kelly, who says he usually starts drinking as soon as he wakes up, says periods of want and plenty are par for the course when you're homeless, no matter where you are. Setting down his beer, he pats his belly, which is full from the day's soup kitchen and last week's Thanksgiving Dinner.
I gain weight and lose weight fast," he says, then adds with a smile, "But I don't have to wear a bikini next summer, so I'm not worrying about it."
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Los Gatos, California Since 1881
