Let’s talk about Eugene Moore for a bit. Eugene is 60 years old. He’s been homeless for about 20 years, was born in West Palm Beach, but raised in Overtown and Liberty City. While growing up, he would spend some time in Wrens, Georgia. He dropped out of school in 7th grade. His parents didn’t pay close attention to him and considers himself to be self-raised. At 18 years old, while still living at home in Overtown, his family, along with hundreds of other families, had to abruptly move out of their home to make room for the I-95. They relocated to Liberty City. Eugene still remembers the address: 746 NW 61st street. He said the environment there was tense. After a couple of years in Liberty City, he left home and headed back to Overtown. He wanted to be closer to downtown. When asked why, he answered “you know it’s the stomping grounds.”

Eugene has suffered much from unemployment throughout his life. He said he tried making money on his own by washing cars, cutting grass, and selling produce. Ultimately, a hostile political and social environment compounded with a lack of education led to his plight. He has a lucid mind and a surprisingly broad vocabulary. Today, Eugene is in a wheel chair. He suffers from Rheumatoid arthritis. When asked what he does when a hurricane hits, he quickly answered “hang loose”. No rides. Little help. Hang loose. When asked where he sleeps at night, he said “I move around”. When asked why, he responded “ I don’t know who’s watching me. I don’t want others to know what I do and where I go. Its dangerous.”

Recently, while running a street photography mission, I saw him with a bunch of young thug-looking men on a street corner. When questioned about them, he quickly talked in a warning-like manner. I wanted to know if they were approachable, and to increase my understanding, he compared them to “wolves” and described them as “unpredictable” and “stuck on stupid.” He says they are misguided and many of their parents are kids. He continued to say that he has witnessed “bad things” that he can never speak of. His words open a window into the dark side of the city.

Eugene is one of thousands of seemingly phantom members of society. They roam around without cease and live off of the decency and scraps of others. Their world is dangerous, uncertain, dirty, pitiless, and their existence is barely noticed. They wander amid the shadows and alleys of our buildings. Our trash is their sustenance. Our streets are their bathrooms. Our pocket change is their compensation. Our attention is their best hope. Eugene’s story is but the first.

Post Script: The quotations used in this article were taken from excerpts of a Boom or Bust tape recorded interview with Mr. Eugene Moore.

I figure that the best way to learn more about homelessness is to take it to the streets. So, I did. I first spoke with Eugene. He was sleeping. He tends to fall asleep slumped over on his wheelchair. I later found out that he had rheumatoid arthritis and hence the wheelchair. Regardless, I woke him up, gave him some breakfast funds and three cigarettes. I asked him if he had seen Jackie, my other homeless friend. He said no. So I asked him some questions and he happily answered them. As it turned out, his answers were invaluable. He gave me insight to what it was like to be displaced by the government when the I-95 was built through Overtown, about a half century ago. I also got the perspective of a man who has been homeless for more than twenty years. He’s from the old-school. The problem is he dropped out of school in 7^th grade. There is a direct correlation between dropping out of school and homelessness. Importantly, I also found out why so many homeless come to Miami and stay here: the warm weather.

Before I go on for too long about Eugene, who is sound of mind, kind, and gentle, I will first delve into two other cases. Let me begin with Ron. This 25 year old young man is here from Millville New Jersey—hoping to find opportunity. According to him, Greyhound lost his luggage and the 500 dollars he came with. He’s only been in Miami for two months. He, too, cited warm weather as a reason for coming here. He said drug use among the homeless was rampant. When I threw away some trash I had in my hand, he said that that was the first time he had seen someone use a trash can around here. It could be that he’s not paying attention. Frightfully though, he’s probably saying the truth. Another guy, Abel, is 28 years old, also from New Jersey, and also used Greyhound to get here. Not surprisingly, other than finding out that his son was actually not his, warm weather was the main reason for him coming. When asked what kind of a role drugs play in the plight of the homeless, he said “the most important role”. When asked why, he said “a lot of them ask for money to do drugs”. But that didn’t tell me why they did it, so I mentioned to him whether it was just a way of escaping reality, and he said it was exactly that, an escape. I can see why they would want an escape from reality when theirs involves little to no companionship, hope, opportunity, health care, hygiene, security, or even sustenance. When I asked him if it would be good for the drugs to be gone, he said yes because then people would have to face reality. Naturally, because facing reality is the first step towards solving your real problems. Here is what I have learned from speaking to these three men: warm weather will always lure the homeless to Miami—so we better have a good plan to deal with their inflow, for the most part, they use Greyhound to get here, drug use is widespread among them, they don’t feel safe sleeping in Camilus House (when asked how moving Camillus House farther away would affect them, Abel and Ron said, “longer walk.) No matter what, so long as they are homeless, they will be in the center of the city, because that is where the most people and money are.

I’ve come to quite a few conclusions. In a practical sense, there are two types of homeless: those who can work and those who cannot. From the latter, you can imagine that there could be several reasons why they can’t work. They might be too old, physically handicapped, or mentally unstable. Obviously, these are the most vulnerable. Dealing with their problems requires concerted government intervention. The others who can work have hope for social rehabilitation. The government has to play the primary role in offering them jobs. It is shocking to see how young some of these homeless people are. Not only can they work, but they want to work. What really bothers me is that the CBD is filled with trash, the streets are filthy, and there is graffiti everywhere. Clearly, there is much work to be done.

Some ideas:

1. Significantly increase the resources at the disposal of the narcotics units in and around the CBD. These drug dealers have to be taken off the streets. The homeless aren’t exactly mobile. This means the drug dealers are at fixed positions. I refuse to accept that our law enforcement, with added resources, cannot take these scum-buckets down, one by one. So long as drug use is rampant, the homeless will remain in their current state of disrepair and the overall security situation poor.
2. The government must conduct a homeless census while simultaneously diagnosing their mental and physical state—those who require medical attention, get it (psychological, drug-rehabilitation, etc). Those who can work are given government sponsored jobs like cleaning up the streets, painting over graffiti, and picking up the trash. I just don’t understand how the government can allow prisoners to work on the street, like slave labor, and not think about the most vulnerable and unemployed people on the streets who will work for almost anything.
3. Explore government housing options that are public transit friendly for the displaced.

The solution is to help provide them with a way out—not move Camillus House; unfortunately not even expanding Camillus House will cure the problem. With drug distribution reduced, the homeless will find it more difficult if not impossible to get drugs. They will be forced to face reality and we can help them improve it. The government is not doing enough. I don’t see them do anything at all. There are no results on the streets at least. The homeless claim that there is no assistance. The sad thing is that while we’re all celebrating the rise of these buildings, on the very same streets, the homeless population is swelling and their drug use is out of control. Still, there is plenty that can be done.

This morning I went looking for Jackie. I couldn’t find him. Instead, I found Bill, a homeless Vietnam veteran. He said he hadn’t seen Jackie all morning. Jackie’s also homeless. I first met him about two and half years ago. Walking in Downtown, you get used to the homeless people. You smell the urine sometimes. You realize some urinate on the same spots daily and you could even notice and avoid the urine stream stains. It’s easy to not want to pay attention to the homeless. So, that’s exactly what I would do two and a half years ago. Not pay attention to them. Everyday I would walk and hear some request for money and would give some bogus excuse or ignore it all together. “I don’t have change. I’m on my way to lunch. I’ll give you something on my way back. I only have credit cards.” You name it. I’d say it. In retrospect, I should have ignored the requests if I wasn’t going to give anything. But, I didn’t. I find it hard to ignore people. I responded with randomness. Of course, regardless of what I would say, I wouldn’t return. Until one day, after giving another one of my random excuses, I was stopped in my tracks by a tall, skinny, black old man with blue eyes, and a tired, long, and worn face. He said to me, “Why you do that?” “Why do you tell me you gonna come back and never come back?” I felt embarassed and just quietly looked down. I walked away. I was by the JESU church on NE 1^st Avenue and 3^rd street. As I walked away from him, I felt regret in my heart. This homeless guy was right. So, I went to one of the parking lot toll guys and asked him to change a 10 dollar bill for me. I went back to the homeless guy and asked him his name. “Jackie”, he responded. I asked him how many times I had not come back when saying I would, and he remembered the days and my lame excuses. I couldn’t believe it. This guy had great memory. The first thing to mind was that he can’t be doing hard drugs. I gave him a dollar for every one of my lame excuses, four in all. This began a two year old friendship that continues to this day. Jackie has even given me gifts (a waiter’s tray, and ironically a bath set in a wicker basket.) He said that the bath set was for my pretty lady. One time he told me that if I ever needed a couple of bucks for an emergency, he’d raise it for me. Now, I would give Jackie at least two dollars every time I saw him. Like a friend, I’d listen to him when he’d talk. I rarely talk to him for more than three minutes out of each day. Still, I realized I was one of many sponsors who helped him. When times got rough, he’d ask for 5 sometimes 10 bucks. When he felt he had to go to the hospital, he went to his friends and would ask for money for transportation to go to Jackson Memorial. I realized I was one of his most reliable friends. I realized how important I and others like me were to someone like Jackie, who to most, is not worthy of an after thought even less a name or identity. I appreciate Jackie and am determined to address the issue of homelessness head on. Jackie represents hundreds of homeless people in downtown Miami. There are plans for Camillus House to be moved west of the I-95, but these guys will just find their way back to the city, because they have to; it’s where their sponsors are. They’re not going anywhere, so long as they remain homeless. Many of them are mentally unstable, but others, like Jackie, are sound of mind. During hurricanes they hide in alleys, like cats. One of them Ralph, is 62 and in a wheelchair, and had to do just that during hurricane Katrina. He said God looked after him.

I’m going to, as part of my overall analysis of Miami’s historic urban transformation, report on homelessness regularly. How many of them are there? How rampant is drug use among them? Where do they congregate most? These are not questions people like to ask, but they are vitally important if one is to understand one of the most obvious problems present in Miami.