For nearly one year, the trees in this picture, were my home, and under them, I built what is now the famous "tent of Old Orchard Beach". Here is my story.
Homelessness
What happens when government corruption goes to the extreme.
Homeless in Maine: The "Tent" of Old Orchard Beach
The Harasment Begins
The harassment started in 2003, with little thing: paint balls shot at our home and car, pictures of guns (torn out of police supply catalogs) left on our front door, and other such things. They were small and harmless and left by unknown people for unknown reasons. More than once though, the indication was that it was police officer behind it, which we found to be rather odd.
We filed reports at the police station, but nothing was ever done and no one ever looked into it, which was another thing we found odd.
Strange things began happening at our church as well: people who had been our friends for more than 20 years, suddenly took to shunning us.
We would find out a few years later that the cause of these strange happenings was one man, the than new town manager of Old Orchard Beach, who was also a new member of our church. A very wealthy out-of-state man who looked at our little town and saw us as a bunch of hicks in need of reforming. And he was about to make waves that would rock our town worst than any hurricane ever had.
We filed reports at the police station, but nothing was ever done and no one ever looked into it, which was another thing we found odd.
Strange things began happening at our church as well: people who had been our friends for more than 20 years, suddenly took to shunning us.
We would find out a few years later that the cause of these strange happenings was one man, the than new town manager of Old Orchard Beach, who was also a new member of our church. A very wealthy out-of-state man who looked at our little town and saw us as a bunch of hicks in need of reforming. And he was about to make waves that would rock our town worst than any hurricane ever had.
The 700 sq ft House At 144 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine
On Being *Poor* In Old Orchard Beach, Maine
The harassment of our family really got going full swing, in the fall of 2005 after an unknown person, wrote an editorial to the local newspapers, saying, "Four homes on Portland Avenue were distracting from the value of other properties in the town". The writer continued saying that something should be done about it, that these four homes "should be torn down", and the families should be forced to move out of town to make way for the new generation. Two of those four homes mentioned, as it turns out, were 144 Portland Ave and 146 Portland Ave.
At 144 Portland Avenue there lives my elderly dad Kenneth Ricker Allen, myself, and my three brothers.
In 1983, my dad's mother died and he inherited her house at 146 Portland Ave. The tiny 16 foot by 9-foot house, which never had plumbing, etc. Was turned into a shed, but even so, the town has continued to tax it as a house. Since October of 2001 (six years ago) we have been applying for a permit to repair this building, and turn it into a greenhouse so we can extend our growing season, but the town STILL has that on a waiting list.
We continued to live in the old 700 square foot 4 room house, more of a cabin than a house by the town's standards anyways. Now, people who live outside of Old Orchard always find these tiny house a HUGE major shocker, so I guess they are not to common elsewhere. These tiny buildings are actually quite common here in Old Orchard where you have 2 choices: either you live in a $2 million mansion or you live in a cabin. Either way you have to fight off the ocean and it's constant onslaught of storms, so you really have to love the ocean to live in Old Orchard Beach, because it'll come knocking at your front door and than waltz right on in, taking the door with it.
My dad was a newspaper carrier for 21 years, our family income was under $20,000 a year, so we were never able to afford much, but than again we never noticed, because we were happy and had no need to want much anyways. Our family was living together, we had our pets with us, and we lived on our farm. That we lacked a "normal income" or a "normal lifestyle" (as the town officials now put it) had never occurred to us.
Our family founded this town in 1657. Our land has never been out of our family. Our family for generations has always lived in these tiny houses and never saught out what we considered to be *unnecessary income*. And odd as this may sound to outsiders, this is rather a common mindset here with Old Orchard Beach natives, as the average income of the town's 12,000 year round residents is $34,000 per year. All the millionaires you see around town are not year round residents and are only here 3 months of the year, the rest of the year their mansions sit empty.
This being the overall frame of mind of many town folk, it was quite a shock to us when suddenly we were being told we were *poor* and that our family, our home, and our lack of a *normal* income was an embarrassment to the town.
Soon after we were told this, all of the 40+ 2 room cabins on Walnut Street were torn down. What happened to the residents is unknown, all we know is that overnight nearly 50 families, living an 1/8 of a mile from our home, left town. Apparently they were told the same thing. Today a condominium stand where their houses once stood.
Than in spring of 2006, there came the letters from the town. One after another after another after another. Demands to "remove the junk and debris" or else.
As it turns out, what they were calling junk and debris, was as follows:
In other words, what they are calling "trash", "junk", and "debris" are actually things we use every day, things we need in order to survive: without them we can not garden, if we can not garden we can not eat, because we can not afford to buy enough food to eat more than one meal a day per person, without the garden we well starve to death, without the farm equipment we can not garden, they are trying to kill us; this is not a figure of speech, as you shall soon understand.
My dad explained to the town that this stuff is not junk but our livelihood. The town responded by attaching a lean/fine on our property, for "refusal to comply with orders". I'm not sure how much the amount is unto today, but it was much more than we could afford than, and more so now.
My dad made an attempt to move the items so that they could not be seen from the road, in an attempt to comply with the town's orders, hoping that if the items could not be seen from the road, that it would stop the harassment by the town, this was the biggest mistake he could have made, because as a result, a few days later on May 9, 2006, he went into a coma.
At 144 Portland Avenue there lives my elderly dad Kenneth Ricker Allen, myself, and my three brothers.
In 1983, my dad's mother died and he inherited her house at 146 Portland Ave. The tiny 16 foot by 9-foot house, which never had plumbing, etc. Was turned into a shed, but even so, the town has continued to tax it as a house. Since October of 2001 (six years ago) we have been applying for a permit to repair this building, and turn it into a greenhouse so we can extend our growing season, but the town STILL has that on a waiting list.
We continued to live in the old 700 square foot 4 room house, more of a cabin than a house by the town's standards anyways. Now, people who live outside of Old Orchard always find these tiny house a HUGE major shocker, so I guess they are not to common elsewhere. These tiny buildings are actually quite common here in Old Orchard where you have 2 choices: either you live in a $2 million mansion or you live in a cabin. Either way you have to fight off the ocean and it's constant onslaught of storms, so you really have to love the ocean to live in Old Orchard Beach, because it'll come knocking at your front door and than waltz right on in, taking the door with it.
My dad was a newspaper carrier for 21 years, our family income was under $20,000 a year, so we were never able to afford much, but than again we never noticed, because we were happy and had no need to want much anyways. Our family was living together, we had our pets with us, and we lived on our farm. That we lacked a "normal income" or a "normal lifestyle" (as the town officials now put it) had never occurred to us.
Our family founded this town in 1657. Our land has never been out of our family. Our family for generations has always lived in these tiny houses and never saught out what we considered to be *unnecessary income*. And odd as this may sound to outsiders, this is rather a common mindset here with Old Orchard Beach natives, as the average income of the town's 12,000 year round residents is $34,000 per year. All the millionaires you see around town are not year round residents and are only here 3 months of the year, the rest of the year their mansions sit empty.
This being the overall frame of mind of many town folk, it was quite a shock to us when suddenly we were being told we were *poor* and that our family, our home, and our lack of a *normal* income was an embarrassment to the town.
Soon after we were told this, all of the 40+ 2 room cabins on Walnut Street were torn down. What happened to the residents is unknown, all we know is that overnight nearly 50 families, living an 1/8 of a mile from our home, left town. Apparently they were told the same thing. Today a condominium stand where their houses once stood.
Than in spring of 2006, there came the letters from the town. One after another after another after another. Demands to "remove the junk and debris" or else.
As it turns out, what they were calling junk and debris, was as follows:
Our car, which though they consider it "junk" still runs in spite of what it looks like, and we use it daily.
Our fire wood (we have a wood stove for heat, cause we can't afford anything else.)
My dad's tools (he was a car mechanic in the 1970's, and still works on his own car and cars of relatives)
Our brooder (used for raising baby chickens each spring)
My dad's antique cast iron wood stove collection
Our garden (bean poles, pea fences, etc. they say we can't have a garden any more either)
Our washing machine (a 1947 wringer, which we use weekly)
Our farming equipment (tiller, ATV, etc. all used on a regular basis)
In other words, what they are calling "trash", "junk", and "debris" are actually things we use every day, things we need in order to survive: without them we can not garden, if we can not garden we can not eat, because we can not afford to buy enough food to eat more than one meal a day per person, without the garden we well starve to death, without the farm equipment we can not garden, they are trying to kill us; this is not a figure of speech, as you shall soon understand.
My dad explained to the town that this stuff is not junk but our livelihood. The town responded by attaching a lean/fine on our property, for "refusal to comply with orders". I'm not sure how much the amount is unto today, but it was much more than we could afford than, and more so now.
My dad made an attempt to move the items so that they could not be seen from the road, in an attempt to comply with the town's orders, hoping that if the items could not be seen from the road, that it would stop the harassment by the town, this was the biggest mistake he could have made, because as a result, a few days later on May 9, 2006, he went into a coma.
The 16 x 9 foot House at 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine
The Day of The Flood
May 9, 2006 started like any other day. I woke up and went out to feed the chickens, work in the garden, and than help my dad move items out of view of the street. My dad had not yet gotten up. I had been in the yard barely 20 minutes when my brother came running across the yard in a panic; something was wrong, I could see it on his face, and I ran to meet him; he told me that something was wrong with daddy; daddy had woken up and torn the wood stove out of the wall tearing with it all of the water pipes; and now the house was under water, while daddy was throwing everything from the toilet to the tables to shelves to files all over the house. By the time I arrived in the house there was 8 inches of water on the floor, and nothing left of anything; everything in the house was totally destroyed, there was not only nothing left on shelves, there were no longer any shelves. It looked like a tornado had gone through the house. The house was barely recognizable.
My smaller brothers had run into the bedroom to hide, terrified at the event that was unfolding, while daddy was now in an attempt at tearing out the windows. When I asked him what he was doing, he did not recognize me, he could not hear me, he could not see me, it was like he had turned into a blind man and was tearing at the walls in an attempt to see, I rushed to the neighbor who called an ambulance.
My smaller brothers had run into the bedroom to hide, terrified at the event that was unfolding, while daddy was now in an attempt at tearing out the windows. When I asked him what he was doing, he did not recognize me, he could not hear me, he could not see me, it was like he had turned into a blind man and was tearing at the walls in an attempt to see, I rushed to the neighbor who called an ambulance.
The Police Raid
The ambulance arrived, and talk of nervous breakdown and meningitis, were scatted around the conversations, the emergency team was in attempt of asking me what happened, when I was pulled away by a police officer named Jack Nichols, who proceeded to interrogate me about the condition of our house.
The wood stove was laying in pieces in the center of the dinning room, and this was his main focus.
He repeated the same question again and again: "How long has this been laying here?" he demanded. I told him, it had just happened, he accused me of lying, and repeated the question. over and over again, and I kept explaining to him, that daddy had just done this, which was why we had called 911.
Than he turned his questions to the piles of paper and mail that scattered the house, "What's all this clutter?" he yelled.
Again I explained that this had just happened, that it was stuff that had been on the shelves and table, but as before, he accused me of lying and repeated the question again and again, his voice growing more heated and temperamental each time.
Than in a menacing voice he turned on my three brothers "Why aren't these children in school?". I explained that we home schooled, and we had approval from the town's superintendent. Next he railed me out about how children can't live in "clutter and filth" like this; again I explained that this "clutter and filth" as he called it, had just happened moments ago, and it was because this had happened that we had called for his help. He responded by calling the Department of Human Services to take my brothers away, and than calling the town code enforcement officer to condemn the house on grounds of "clutter and filth".
While all this was happening the ambulance had taken my dad away, to where they had taken him I did not know, because Jack Nichols had not given me a chance to even know what had happened to my dad. More police, this time with cameras, stormed into the house, none of them would tell me what they were doing, why they were there, or what had happened to my dad.
In the mean time my mom and her husband arrived, and my brothers and me packed what few things things so we could find that had survived the flood, to move in with her while we figured out what to do next.
We tried to pack what little we could find that hadn't been destroyed by the flood, and do it around police officers who were in the process of destroying everything that was not flood damaged, and seemed to be going through everything in the house for no reason at all, and who refused to talk to me or even acknowledge that I was there. To see these police officers tearing the house apart like this, shocked me more than anything else that had happened that day.
Luckily the hospital called us during this time and told us where my dad was, but they would not discuss his condition over the phone. We tried to leave to head to the hospital only to find that we were not allowed to leave the house, as apparently we were under *house arrest* until after the police finished their so called search.
It was four hours before the police would let us leave to find out what happened to my dad. A friend, who had witnessed the last few minutes of the police searching the house with their cameras, said that he thought it looked like a drug raid, and he suggested that we get copies of the police report to find out why they were going through the house like that. Months later, I told my dad this after he came out of the hospital and he went to the police station to get copies of the report, but they refused to give them to him without a court order, so we have been unable to obtain any info as to why the police were going through everything like that.
Growing up watching Sesame Street I was taught that the police were your friends. Boy was I wrong. This was my first dealing with police, and it well be my last. It was a lesson well learned. We called the police for help and they turned on us like rabid wolves. I well never call 911 again.
The wood stove was laying in pieces in the center of the dinning room, and this was his main focus.
He repeated the same question again and again: "How long has this been laying here?" he demanded. I told him, it had just happened, he accused me of lying, and repeated the question. over and over again, and I kept explaining to him, that daddy had just done this, which was why we had called 911.
Than he turned his questions to the piles of paper and mail that scattered the house, "What's all this clutter?" he yelled.
Again I explained that this had just happened, that it was stuff that had been on the shelves and table, but as before, he accused me of lying and repeated the question again and again, his voice growing more heated and temperamental each time.
Than in a menacing voice he turned on my three brothers "Why aren't these children in school?". I explained that we home schooled, and we had approval from the town's superintendent. Next he railed me out about how children can't live in "clutter and filth" like this; again I explained that this "clutter and filth" as he called it, had just happened moments ago, and it was because this had happened that we had called for his help. He responded by calling the Department of Human Services to take my brothers away, and than calling the town code enforcement officer to condemn the house on grounds of "clutter and filth".
While all this was happening the ambulance had taken my dad away, to where they had taken him I did not know, because Jack Nichols had not given me a chance to even know what had happened to my dad. More police, this time with cameras, stormed into the house, none of them would tell me what they were doing, why they were there, or what had happened to my dad.
In the mean time my mom and her husband arrived, and my brothers and me packed what few things things so we could find that had survived the flood, to move in with her while we figured out what to do next.
We tried to pack what little we could find that hadn't been destroyed by the flood, and do it around police officers who were in the process of destroying everything that was not flood damaged, and seemed to be going through everything in the house for no reason at all, and who refused to talk to me or even acknowledge that I was there. To see these police officers tearing the house apart like this, shocked me more than anything else that had happened that day.
Luckily the hospital called us during this time and told us where my dad was, but they would not discuss his condition over the phone. We tried to leave to head to the hospital only to find that we were not allowed to leave the house, as apparently we were under *house arrest* until after the police finished their so called search.
It was four hours before the police would let us leave to find out what happened to my dad. A friend, who had witnessed the last few minutes of the police searching the house with their cameras, said that he thought it looked like a drug raid, and he suggested that we get copies of the police report to find out why they were going through the house like that. Months later, I told my dad this after he came out of the hospital and he went to the police station to get copies of the report, but they refused to give them to him without a court order, so we have been unable to obtain any info as to why the police were going through everything like that.
Growing up watching Sesame Street I was taught that the police were your friends. Boy was I wrong. This was my first dealing with police, and it well be my last. It was a lesson well learned. We called the police for help and they turned on us like rabid wolves. I well never call 911 again.
The Stress Induced Coma
Once at the hospital I was told that what we had just witnessed was a diabetic seizure, brought on by extreme amounts of stress. The doctor asked if my dad had any recent stress; yes, he had, with the town harassing him the past couple of weeks, and than the police harassing him even during a medical emergency, nearly hindering the emergency teams ability to get him to the hospital, I'd say he was under quite a bit of stress.
Dr. Greene than explained that it was luckily he had gotten to the hospital when he did "another 20 minutes and he'd have been dead" is what he said.
I shudder to think that the town police and their obsession with throwing us off our land nearly resulted in my dad's death.
Dr. Greene went on to explain that my dad was now in a diabetic coma on full life support. Wither or not he would live was not yet known.
As days, turned to weeks, my dad remained in a coma, his system getting weaker by the minute, at one point his kidneys failed him and he had to be rushed in for dialysis.
My dad remained in Southern Maine Medical Center in a diabetic coma on full life support for 21 days. In mid-June they moved him, wheelchair bound, from SMMC to New England Rehab Center in Portland.
Dr. Greene than explained that it was luckily he had gotten to the hospital when he did "another 20 minutes and he'd have been dead" is what he said.
I shudder to think that the town police and their obsession with throwing us off our land nearly resulted in my dad's death.
Dr. Greene went on to explain that my dad was now in a diabetic coma on full life support. Wither or not he would live was not yet known.
As days, turned to weeks, my dad remained in a coma, his system getting weaker by the minute, at one point his kidneys failed him and he had to be rushed in for dialysis.
My dad remained in Southern Maine Medical Center in a diabetic coma on full life support for 21 days. In mid-June they moved him, wheelchair bound, from SMMC to New England Rehab Center in Portland.
A House Condemed
On June 29, 2006, my dad came home, unable to walk on his own, and saw for the first time what had become of our house. Just three days after my dad went into the hospital our electricity was shut off. The town *claims* they had nothing to do with it when I asked them.
Without electricity, there was no light, and thus no way to see to clean the mess from the flood, and so, it remained just as it had been left on that day in May.
My dad, was now severely disabled, only able to walk a few feet at a time and unable to lift anything. The stress caused by the town's harassment had left him with a weak heart and failing kidney's, but the harassment had only just begun, for almost as soon as he was out of the hospital, the town once again began its relentless pursuit to remove us from our land.
Land that for us means our heritage, our history, our legacy, and has been in our family since 1657, but land that for the town, means nothing but dollar signs and profit margins. And developers suddenly were wandering about our yard with town counsel men and talking about such things as uprooting trees and leveling the rockery.
Due to the months of the house sitting filled with water, we could not go back in to live in it. Having no family or relatives willing to help us, we were forced to camp out in the yard. We signed up for various shelter foundations and were put on their waiting lists. At HUD we were informed that we were #600 on the list.
Problems had gotten worse than I had known, for my dad was now disabled and could not go to work, thus I started my long and fruitless search for a job. During his hospitalization, no bills had been paid, and about 10 or so years ago my dad had taken out a mortgage on the house, there has been no money since May of 2006 (nearly a year now), and thus no mortgage payments since that time either, they are now threatening to foreclose, but knew the situation and were trying to work out a payment plan with my dad, in hopes that his disability check would eventually be approved by the state (he was still waiting to hear from the state on that, they sure do take a long time. They said it well is approved, they just have to wait for the paperwork to go through.)
With no income, and a house that we can not live in, my dad lived in his car, my brothers now live with our mom and her husband, and I built a house-tent-lean-to type of thing out of 12 shipping pallets, 3 cinderblocks, and a tarp.
We had asked the town if we could put up a yurt (not hard to build as our land boarders a forest) until we could get a house back up, but they told us no, only tents were allowed, but we couldn't afford to buy a real tent, so I built one instead.
(UPDATE: Since the writing of the article in 2007, The town has taken our house and land. No one ever did make an attempt to help us as every one was just too scared of the town counsel to stand up to them.)
Without electricity, there was no light, and thus no way to see to clean the mess from the flood, and so, it remained just as it had been left on that day in May.
My dad, was now severely disabled, only able to walk a few feet at a time and unable to lift anything. The stress caused by the town's harassment had left him with a weak heart and failing kidney's, but the harassment had only just begun, for almost as soon as he was out of the hospital, the town once again began its relentless pursuit to remove us from our land.
Land that for us means our heritage, our history, our legacy, and has been in our family since 1657, but land that for the town, means nothing but dollar signs and profit margins. And developers suddenly were wandering about our yard with town counsel men and talking about such things as uprooting trees and leveling the rockery.
Due to the months of the house sitting filled with water, we could not go back in to live in it. Having no family or relatives willing to help us, we were forced to camp out in the yard. We signed up for various shelter foundations and were put on their waiting lists. At HUD we were informed that we were #600 on the list.
Problems had gotten worse than I had known, for my dad was now disabled and could not go to work, thus I started my long and fruitless search for a job. During his hospitalization, no bills had been paid, and about 10 or so years ago my dad had taken out a mortgage on the house, there has been no money since May of 2006 (nearly a year now), and thus no mortgage payments since that time either, they are now threatening to foreclose, but knew the situation and were trying to work out a payment plan with my dad, in hopes that his disability check would eventually be approved by the state (he was still waiting to hear from the state on that, they sure do take a long time. They said it well is approved, they just have to wait for the paperwork to go through.)
With no income, and a house that we can not live in, my dad lived in his car, my brothers now live with our mom and her husband, and I built a house-tent-lean-to type of thing out of 12 shipping pallets, 3 cinderblocks, and a tarp.
We had asked the town if we could put up a yurt (not hard to build as our land boarders a forest) until we could get a house back up, but they told us no, only tents were allowed, but we couldn't afford to buy a real tent, so I built one instead.
(UPDATE: Since the writing of the article in 2007, The town has taken our house and land. No one ever did make an attempt to help us as every one was just too scared of the town counsel to stand up to them.)
We would later find out that the harassment of our family was not an isolated incident, as over the next few months we would learn than more than a dozen other families on our block were undergoing similar treatment from the town counsel, as plans were heading underway to level the entire area to make way for a building complex. Our 300 year old farm was stand in the middle of some very big plans, and one man: James Thomas was going to stop at nothing to get us off our land. In the end he lost very badly, as an investigation was started and it was learned that this was not the first town he had done this too, and in fact his doing such things was the reason he was literally run out of his last two town manger jobs out West. In the Spring of 2008, Old Orchard Beach fired him, and in 6 months since than he has lost a fourth town manager job elsewhere. I got to wonder, with this man's record how he keeps getting town manager jobs!
Homeless in Old Orchard Beach Maine Wendy C Allen a.k.a EelKat and Buddy in tent
The Fire
In the midst of everything else that was going on, we still had 2 dogs and 9 cats now just as homeless as we were. For the time being, they continued to live in my room in the house, as it was the only room to not get flooded. During the weeks that followed the flood, my massive wall of comic books was moved to a friends house, and normal operations of The Pidgie Fund were put on a complete halt as we no longer had a way to take in feral cats.
The *tent* was in the yard some 50 feet from the house, and it was on October 21, 2006 that I woke up around midnight to hear the shrill scream of a smoke alarm. I stepped out of the tent to see the whole back half of our crippled house engulfed in flames. Only one section of the house was on fire: my room. My cats and my dogs were now trapped in a towering blaze with no way out, as the fire had cut off the only door into that room.
My dad was asleep in the car, I woke him up, I have no idea what I said to him, and than I ran straight into the fire, setting my own cloths and my super long hair ablaze with everything else.
With one dog carried out, I grabbed the garden hose and ran back in. Chasing out terrified cats who were now running deep into the forest behind our land. Two cats remained unfound and one dog remained trapped on the porch where he had run too to escape the flames, by the time the long line of fire trucks drove up our lawn.
The chief dragged a very hysterical me, back out of the building, while other fireman set out to chopping the wall off the back of the house so they could get inside to find my little Cocker Spaniel. A few minutes later a very happy fireman came out carrying my Buddy who was attempting to chew off the fireman's arm. For the next several days that fireman (a young volunteer maybe 19 or 20 years old) could be seen around town telling everyone he met: "I saved the dog!"
What saved the two cats (Herbie and Mittens) was that they had gone into the other room, and hidden under the water logged bed in there (still water logged from the flood months earlier). The fire had not spread to the rest of the house because the rest of the house was still dripping water from the flood.
The next day was spent in search of missing cats. I started out with 9 cats the day of the fire, I came home with 12. And now we all lived in the tent: me, my dogs, and my cats in a space 6 feet deep by 5 feet wide and 4 feet tall.
The *tent* was in the yard some 50 feet from the house, and it was on October 21, 2006 that I woke up around midnight to hear the shrill scream of a smoke alarm. I stepped out of the tent to see the whole back half of our crippled house engulfed in flames. Only one section of the house was on fire: my room. My cats and my dogs were now trapped in a towering blaze with no way out, as the fire had cut off the only door into that room.
My dad was asleep in the car, I woke him up, I have no idea what I said to him, and than I ran straight into the fire, setting my own cloths and my super long hair ablaze with everything else.
With one dog carried out, I grabbed the garden hose and ran back in. Chasing out terrified cats who were now running deep into the forest behind our land. Two cats remained unfound and one dog remained trapped on the porch where he had run too to escape the flames, by the time the long line of fire trucks drove up our lawn.
The chief dragged a very hysterical me, back out of the building, while other fireman set out to chopping the wall off the back of the house so they could get inside to find my little Cocker Spaniel. A few minutes later a very happy fireman came out carrying my Buddy who was attempting to chew off the fireman's arm. For the next several days that fireman (a young volunteer maybe 19 or 20 years old) could be seen around town telling everyone he met: "I saved the dog!"
What saved the two cats (Herbie and Mittens) was that they had gone into the other room, and hidden under the water logged bed in there (still water logged from the flood months earlier). The fire had not spread to the rest of the house because the rest of the house was still dripping water from the flood.
The next day was spent in search of missing cats. I started out with 9 cats the day of the fire, I came home with 12. And now we all lived in the tent: me, my dogs, and my cats in a space 6 feet deep by 5 feet wide and 4 feet tall.
EelKat & Mowglie in tent.
On Being Homeless in Old Orchard Beach, Maine.
My family was homeless from May 2006 - February 2007, after first a flood and than a fire destroyed are home. The flood left my dad in a coma, resulting in over a million dollars in medical bills. My dad was the only person in the family with a job (our religion does not allow women to work), so we suddenly had no income. We lost our house, our cloths, everything. All we had left was what we were wearing when it happened and I was in the building when is burned, both my cloths and my hair were pretty much cinders.We turned to family for help, who due to religious convictions said that "god was punishing us" and they than refused to help us because they "would not get in the way of god's plan"; they continued by saying that "god intended man to be self-sufficient", meaning that we had to help ourselves. our friends (from the same religion, btw) said the same. We went to the bishop for help, and was given this same answer yet again.
In the end, we stuck out Maine's 2006 record breaking sub-zero winter, (coldest winter on record since 1927 we were told) by living for 8 months in a "tent" we built out of a tarp and some cinder blocks. We kept warm during the day by staying in the Maine Mall from 9 AM to 10PM. We ate about 4 meals per week at the Salvation Army (they don't serve food every day). The rest of the days were spent in search of wood, leaves, and paper that we could burn at night to keep warm.
Thankfully, 2 months in, I was able to get a job at the Mall, and was able to afford to buy enough food so we could eat every day again. Not having food to eat every day is terrible and you notice just how much you eat, real quick when you have no food at all.
Our time was spent mostly trying to find scraps of food to eat and anything we could burn to keep warm. I always hear people complaining that homeless people are just out looking for money, but you know what? Money is the LAST thing on your mind when you are homeless. Never once did we "panhandle" or "beg for money". Believe me, when you are starving and cold, money is the farthest thing from your mind. I know. All of your time is spent worrying how many days (not hours, but days) it'll be before your next meal, or worrying that the snow will collapse your tent while you are asleep and you'll die before sunrise.
Being homeless is very, very scary, you worry about not living to see tomorrow more than anything else.
You learn to pick trash cans for food, and to pick up bottles and cans to turn in for money to buy food.
Also, you have to deal with a lot of stuck up snobby people throwing things at you (rocks and tin cans mostly), tearing your tent apart while you are away so that you have to keep rebuilding it, and wild animals attacking you at night. (fishers, martens, bobcat, and bear, in our case... my cat who lived in the tent with us was badly scarred by a marten. He's lucky to be alive at all.)
Also, you lose lots of weight (I lost 30 lbs) and you get used to walking miles and miles a day.
You learn that asking to take a shower at a friends house is taboo, and so must go month after month without washing... best you can do is to wash your face in the restroom of a store, but don't keep going to the same store or they'll call the police on you.
You also learn that not taking a shower well cause people to tease you, throw things at you, and go around saying very bad things about you to every one, so that every one who sees you now hates you before they've met you..
You well feel unloved, unwanted, hated, and become deeply depressed. There well be nights when you lay awake staring at the blackness of the tarp above you and wishing tonight's snowstorm will collapse it on you and smother you in your sleep so that you won't have to wake up and suffer another day in this world where humans you once called family and friend are now your worst enemies and hate you, simply because you no longer have a house to live in.
Being homeless was shear hell, I hated it. That was the worst year of my life, but thing that was worse was not the being homeless itself, as much as seeing your friends and family for the first time as who they really are. Believe me, you REALLY find out who your true friends are when you become homeless. We found out that with our friends and relatives, religion and keeping up appearances was more important than your friends. They pretended not to know us. Having no one to talk to during this ordeal, was the hardest thing of all.
The Human Services Steps In
The town counsel stuck their foots deep down their throats when they called the Department of Human Services, because this lens that you are reading right now is a copy of the letter I gave the human service officer who showed up asking why I was living in a tent. After finding out what happened, she went into a rage and stormed down to the town hall.
I don't know what went on between her and them, but she came back the next day with many less than nice things to say about the way she was treated by the town manager. She declared that the town manager and his counsel should be brought under investigation, and a few months later they were.
She also contact HUD and asked why we had been put so low on the waiting list, when she had seen people who already had a place to live being helped. HUD responded that they had not believed our story, because they get *freeloaders* with wild stories coming in all the time, and our story topped them all, so they didn't believe a word of it, and since they never sent anyone to our land to see the remains of the house or the tent in which we now lived (under 4 feet of snow, it looked more like an igloo). HUD was stunned and shocked when they found out that our story was true and the very next day we were in an apartment.
As it turns out, the town manager was the one man behind all of it, and his goal was to get *the poor families* out of town to make way for *the new generation of families*.
Odd, while he and the folks who helped him have now been run out of town from, the families he saught to run out of town are still here.
And people wonder why Mainers don't like non Mainer's moving into the state? Well, we like the way we live. We don't care about money. We are perfectly happy to live in cabins on the coast, and we don't like being told how to live our lives by some rich out of state do gooder who looks at our land and sees nothing but dollar signs!
I don't know what went on between her and them, but she came back the next day with many less than nice things to say about the way she was treated by the town manager. She declared that the town manager and his counsel should be brought under investigation, and a few months later they were.
She also contact HUD and asked why we had been put so low on the waiting list, when she had seen people who already had a place to live being helped. HUD responded that they had not believed our story, because they get *freeloaders* with wild stories coming in all the time, and our story topped them all, so they didn't believe a word of it, and since they never sent anyone to our land to see the remains of the house or the tent in which we now lived (under 4 feet of snow, it looked more like an igloo). HUD was stunned and shocked when they found out that our story was true and the very next day we were in an apartment.
As it turns out, the town manager was the one man behind all of it, and his goal was to get *the poor families* out of town to make way for *the new generation of families*.
Odd, while he and the folks who helped him have now been run out of town from, the families he saught to run out of town are still here.
And people wonder why Mainers don't like non Mainer's moving into the state? Well, we like the way we live. We don't care about money. We are perfectly happy to live in cabins on the coast, and we don't like being told how to live our lives by some rich out of state do gooder who looks at our land and sees nothing but dollar signs!
This Is Old Orchard!
We tried repeatedly to confront the Town Manager in person and find out why he was hell bent on getting us off our land, but we could never get past his to counselors Kathy Smith and Ken Shoup.
We asked Shoup why he was doing this to us, he said: "This is Old Orchard, you have to change you lifestyle."
To this day that is the only answer we have ever been given as to why these things were done to us.
We know this is Old Orchard! Unlike outsiders like him, our family has been here on this land since 1657. My dad's family built this town. Thomas Rodgers was the founder of the town for crying out loud! Our family (Rodgers, Googins, Rickers, and Allens) have been the backbone of every thing in this town since before Maine even joined the union, back when our town was still part of Canada!
Of course we know its Old Orchard. Who does he think we are anyways?
What kind of a reason is that to force a family off their land?
"This is Old Orchard, you have to change you lifestyle."
Change my lifestyle? Like hell! You don't like the way people in our town live than why did you move into our town in the first place?
We asked Shoup why he was doing this to us, he said: "This is Old Orchard, you have to change you lifestyle."
To this day that is the only answer we have ever been given as to why these things were done to us.
"This is Old Orchard, you have to change you lifestyle."
We know this is Old Orchard! Unlike outsiders like him, our family has been here on this land since 1657. My dad's family built this town. Thomas Rodgers was the founder of the town for crying out loud! Our family (Rodgers, Googins, Rickers, and Allens) have been the backbone of every thing in this town since before Maine even joined the union, back when our town was still part of Canada!
Of course we know its Old Orchard. Who does he think we are anyways?
What kind of a reason is that to force a family off their land?
"This is Old Orchard, you have to change you lifestyle."
Change my lifestyle? Like hell! You don't like the way people in our town live than why did you move into our town in the first place?
George Ricker of Old Orchard Beach, Maine; EelKat's Great Grand Father
Continued:
Retelling this story got too long for one lens, and the remainder of it can be found here:-
A Look Inside Life On the Streets
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NOTE: This lens is part two of On Being Homeless. Please read that lens before moving on to this one. Thanks!
The Demon Possessed Car?
Q. Your experience being homeless. It's gotten a lot of publicity the past few months and has resulted in your being asked to write a book about . . . uhm . . . aliens? I believe the book is about how the general public treats alien abductees after finding out the person is an abductee. Is that correct? Is that what started this whole thing? You claimed to be an alien abductee and people went into hysterics over it? Can you explain this?EelKat: I'm not an abductee, no, but yes, it was an alien who caused the mass religious hysteria. This whole this got going big time after the Twilight Books came out, and caused some people to remember my old Twighlight Manor books. It was my Twighlight Manor books that caused the problem. Etiole Swanzen, the silver skinned alien merman, who is the main character of the series. He's the problem. He's not a fictional character, and that bothers people. A lot. Back when I first started writing the Twighlight Manor books in the 1970's and 1980's they were straight up non-fiction retellings of my conversations with "The White Monkey" as I referred to him back than. The harassment started way back than, but it was just one or two people at church than, mostly just telling me that I needed to stop going into the woods and spending so much time talking to an "imaginary friend".
I didn't know what Etiole was back than. He wasn't Human, I knew that much. For about 20 years, I just called him a Faerie, because, well, I had no knowledge of aliens back than. In fact, it was only suggested to me in the past 3 years, that he may very well be an alien.
Well, in 1993, I took all of my old non-fiction stories about him and rewrote them into the 1993 edition of Friends Are Forever. That's when things got bad at church. My bishop, read some of it, and just completely freaked out. He said only a madman would write the stuff I had written. He's the one who said I had schizophrenia. For 3 years, he told every one in our church that. As the years went by, however, weird things started happening to him and his family, or so he said, and he started saying that I was a Witch and had put a curse on him. That's when other church members started freaking out, cause they believed him.
Than one day my bishop started saying that he now believed me. He was now positive Etiole was real, only he said Etiole was a demon sent from Hell to kill us all. The guy totally flipped out. He started saying my car was possessed with a demon and he's the one who got people wanting to destroy my car. A lot of the members say my car is haunted, they all have different theories, but they all pretty much came to the conclusion that if they sent my car to the junk yard it would "end the curse". I never was really sure what curse it was that Etiole was supposed to have put on them. They were not making any sense any more.
I wouldn't let them in the yard. I wouldn't let them take my car. That's when they started the thing with the paint balls and the death threats stuck in our front door. I stopped going to church after that, because, I really thought these people were hysterical enough to try to hurt me, and as it turns out they were. Someone, I never found out who, dumped oil in our brook and killed all of our ducks. There have been several occasions where people have stolen parts off of my car, I guess they plan to take it away one piece at a time or something. We used to have this big old barn from the 1800's, but they came in with a bulldozer and knocked it down in 2002. The police looked into it and the state police got involved, and the next thing I knew we had ABC News reporters in our yard wanting to know what had happened. We ended up on the front page of the local newspapers, because of it. I hated that. It was the newspaper articles, I think, that really set the church members off though, because the reporters had gone to church to interviews various church leaders and members as well, and they got really pissed off about. That's when they town manager of Old Orchard Beach got involved. He was a member of our church, and he said I had caused the town and the church to get a lot of bad publicity. Well, they shouldn't bulldozed our barn. If they hadn't taken the barn down, we would not have called the police, and the police would not have called the state police, and the state police would not have contacted the reporters. But that's when the town manager fired all non-church members of his council and than replaced them all with church members who he knew would help him, get me out of town.
Here's the thing, our town was settled in 1881, but my family (Native American I might add) have been living on this land since 1657. It's the oldest land in Maine to still be owned by the original family. So while he was making laws to force us out, none of his laws applied to us, because of Maine's "grandfather law" which states that families living here long enough, do not have to change with the new laws. One of the laws he changed was to un-list Old Orchard from a "rural zone" and change it to a "business/residential zone". LOL! We got a poultry farm in a business area now because of it. Because the farm had been here for well over 300 years the change in zoning was null and void on our land. He even created a law which states: "no growing of vegetation", in an attempt to stop us from growing vegetables, but again, that law went null and void too, because the gardens have been here over 300 years.
In the end, the town manager turned to the bishop for what to do, and the story of my believing in aliens resurfaced, along with the story that Etiole, was not an alien, but rather a demon living in my car. That's when the town saw an onslaught of weird laws about cars, including one that states "you may not own more than one car per property owned". This one got half the town in an uproar when they tried to enforce it by towing people's cars right out of their driveways, saying that they owned too many cars. Among the cars they took, included my mom's Buick, my dad's Oldsmobile wagon, my dad's pick up truck, and my dad's farm car affectionaly named by church members as "666 OED" (Old Evil Devil). In the end, they took every single one of the cars in our driveway and junked them. Funny thing about this was, that the car in question, the one supposedly demon possessed, my 1964 Dodge 330, is in my rose garden where I use it as a garden seat/decoration and can not be seen from the road; in fact it is so well hidden that it can't even be seen by NASA or Google satellites either (I checked)! LOL! So they took all of our cars thinking that they had taken care of the problem, but left behind the one car that they were trying to get rid of. LOL! OMG, these people are freaking insane. I can't believe they took our cars. Well, thing was, they took a lot of people's cars. Dozens of families all over town were waking up to find their cars had been junked.
We have 12,000 people in our town, and only 375 of them are members of our church, and well, once the town manager started changing laws and doing all this weird stuff, all of the 11,7000 people that were not members of the church, started asking questions, and before long the FBI got called in to investigate the town manager. That's when we found out about him having fired every one and replaced them with church members. The investigation went on for about 6 months, and than the newspapers started telling us about other things: embezzlement of city funds, secret town council meetings held out side of the town hall, tax money being used to fund the town manager's own agendas. It was a mess. Than the investigations went farther, and reporters announced that our town, Old Orchard Beach, was the fourth town that this man had down this too! The investigation lead to a background check, and it was found out that the town manager had been run out of three towns out West, for the very same reasons! Today, the town manager and all of his church appointed council have been fired on grounds of fraud.
Me? I'm back off the streets again. I still have my "demon possessed" car which was the focus of much of the fuss, and I still spend much of my time, in the woods, in the company of a creature of debatable origin. Faerie? Alien? Demon? I don't know and I don't care. But yes,, I've talked about Etiole for 30 years now, and it has been the cause of people's reaction to me. My refusal to deny his existence, ultimately was the tap-root of the problem which caused people to do the things they did which resulted in my becoming homeless, and resulted in reporters writing articles, and well, resulted in the request that I write a book about Etiole, the real Etiole, not the fictional Twighlight Manor version of him, and to tell how people reacted and reacted violently and out of well, their fear of aliens.
I have an older website about what was going on and on it was a blog which was updated daily, and contained every single act of vandalism and violence as it was happening. On that web site was also a list of the names and mailing addresses of every one involved in this, along with a request to help by protesting what they were doing. That's how the FBI got involved, someone reading my site contacted them. I have no idea who it was, but thanks to them, the vandalism stopped in the Fall of 2008 and since that time there has been no farther attempts to destroy my car. They destroyed my property. They killed my pets. They burned down our home. All because of a car. Why? Why did these people think they were justified in their actions? By their own claims they said they were "doing the will of God". Were they? Does God really request such violence from his followers or was that just their cop-out excuse?
In a word, I guess you could say that their attempt to junk my car, backfired in their faces, and it backfired big time.
Info About the Car in Question and it's So-Called "Demon":
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Encounters With Water Faeries
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I'm making this page about Amphibious Aliens/Water Faeries because . . . I saw one, meet one, made contact, had an encounter with one, or whatever you want to say it is that happened. It was late summer/early fall of 1979. I was four years old. It ha...
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The Goldeneagle
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The Goldeneagle: The car that inspired the books "Friends Are Forever", "The Rise of the Goldeneagle", and others in The Twighlight Manor Series, and the inspiration it's most beloved character: Etiole Swanzen aka The Goldeneagle. NOTE: As I am a b...
New Guestbook
SemperFidelis wrote...
SquidAngel Blessings! Very nice lens Eelkat! :o) ~ Colleen
Posted April 23, 2009
Donnette wrote...
My heart broke reading this, for so many reasons. It astounds me that greed and self-opinion can and do take over the lives of so many who are in positions of some sort of authority which does nothing more than enable them to abuse any trust that should be attached to such positions. What an awful ordeal you and your family went through. So honoured to be called your friend xx
Posted April 21, 2009
MysticTurtle wrote...
Wow, what a story! I don't understand why people can't just be allowed to live the way they want. I'm inspired by your strength.
Posted April 11, 2009
stevie10772 wrote...
You have taken great courage in sharing your story, EelKat. Through this testiment, others will be awakened to the stigma that exists today about homelessness and how easily it can occur. Yours is the gift of being able to open the eyes of others. Hopefully, hearts will soften and minds will understand different points of view rather than casting instant judgment. Keep moving forward and sharing your story. ~ Stephanie
Posted March 17, 2009
sparklenz wrote...
It is scary what some people will do to others, you have been so strong through this. Incredible story, thanks for sharing it with us all.
Posted March 13, 2009
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According to her profile, she also likes to draw, she likes the rain, and other unusual things.
Anywhere but here is about a girl and her mother who thought everything was finally going to be okay, and then got wrongly evicted from their apartment with nowhere to go. . . . (read more) - Homeless Tom: Whatever Happened to "Love Thy Neighbor?"
- One thing that is mostly missing from Union Gospel sermons, and is intermittent in what a homeless person experiences staying in the mission dorm, is the ideal of brotherly love or 'love thy neighbor.' And, indeed, in the sermons, there is far, far more hate talk about earthly society than mention of anything in the vicinity of lovingkindness.
This bugs me. Most of the homeless guys I know have a lot of problems, including addictions, unemployment and a hardscrabble life getting anything done, due to the time-devouring way all the homeless-service providers in our world are organized. Getting kindness and endeavoring, ourselves, to be kind is a rather obvious need.. . . (read more) - Newly homeless plead: 'We're not throwaway people' - Breaking news
- In the first major census of people living on the streets since the recession, thousands of volunteers across the country are fanning out in the thick of night this week to count the most desperate members of their communities.
On the streets and in shelters, volunteers conducting the count in the wintry dead of night have found an untold numbers of hard-luck stories from those homeless for the first time, working poor victimized by the foreclosure and unemployment crises.
"I call it the double trouble," said Philip F. Mangano, executive director of the United States Interagency Council on Homelessness. "You would have to be naïve to believe that the loss of over 850,000 homes and over two million jobs wouldn't have an impact."
Click here to find out more!
In Camden, N.J., a city that every economic boom bypasses and every bust seems to embrace, the number of people living in an encampment near downtown has grown over the last year, according to the regulars.
"They seem to keep coming," said Neil Floyd, a 53-year-old former truck driver who is unable to find work and has lived under a tarp for a year.
In Wichita, Kan., Sandra Cox, 47, who receives $517 a month in disability payments, ended up in a homeless shelter in December. Her son, the breadwinner, had lost his job at a tuxedo warehouse that went out of business and could only find temporary part-time work.
Although it will be months before officials compile their final tally of those sleeping in alleys and tunnels, under bridges and overpasses and in cars and tents, they expect the totals to substantially higher than the last count two years ago.. . . (read more) - How does this happen? « The Back Pew
- I was more than a little alarmed - disturbed - this week by a story I read online from Detroit. (A bit of a warning: the link will take you to the story, which includes somber details and graphic images.)
A reporter there had gotten a telephone call from a man who said his friend found a dead body in an elevator shaft in an abandoned building. The body, the caller said, was encased in ice up to about mid-calf, and his feet and part of his legs were sticking out of the ice.
Did the caller or his friend call police? No, they didn't want to get in trouble. In fact, the two were with a group of urban explorers who were playing hockey on the ice in the elevator shaft. Not only did they not call police, they continued on with their game.
A bit more investigating and interviewing and the reporter learned that the body had been there about a month - several homeless men had seen it but not reported it. Some thought it was a dummy.
I was appalled at reading the story, first because no one had the sense or decency to report finding a dead body and then by the casual tone they all seemed to exhibit. This body lying under inches of ice was a human being - someone's son, brother, nephew, cousin. Yet there he lay, cast aside and ignored like the boxes and pillows and debris that surrounded him.
Then I realized that the world this man died in is not and maybe never was like my world. In my world people are upset, maybe even frightened, at the thought of finding a dead body. To find one in such a way would create sadness for the stranger, first for dying in such a manner and then for not having been missed.. . . (read more) - Poverty Vs Domestic Violence And Women Who Are Homeless
- Even when people would not necessarily know my situation, I now bring it up: "I live in 'transitional' housing for survivors of domestic violence and if subsidized housing does not manifest by the time my contract expires, I will be living on the streets." Depending on the social situation, it is often the word "AGAIN" that I leave out at the end.
This is based on the fact that, in my own experience, I have observed being homeless due to domestic violence, which while still frowned upon (echoes of "What self-respecting woman would allow herself to become involved with an abuser?"), seems infinitely more acceptable than being homeless due to a lack of financial resources. In fact, being poor truly does often get treated like a sin, as though you are too lazy to take care of yourself, whereas a survivor of domestic violence is usually treated with some compassion . . . (read more) - Hanging Out With The Homeless
- By a sequence of events nine months ago I fell into a state of homeless poverty in Sacramento. I didn't have any specific idea of what being in this circumstance would amount to or what it would feel like. Judging things now, It's all been a surprise, in mostly positive and in a few negative ways.
Before my impoverishment, I used to ride the light rail past Loaves & Fishes ? my metropolis' prime homeless-help facility several times a week. I'd see people, mostly men, gathered in the North C Street cul-de-sac. Many were a little ragged. I didn't see the gathering as individuals but as a mob, with few distinctions between the folks assembled. I felt compassion for the mob but revulsion too. Get a job, do something you guys, I thought. They were other than me, with less lofty personal values ? I ignorantly supposed. - Fear, Loathing And Homelessness In America
- I am homeless. This is the second time in a year that I've been so. It ain't easy. Just about a year ago, I was laid off from a job I had held for four years. It was a pretty good job, doing research, geographic information systems, and data analysis for an institute at a local university. The layoff was unexpected. I drew unemployment for awhile, had an apartment.
Not long after the layoff, however, I went into a deep clinical depression, was hospitalized for awhile and have needed to spend a time recovering. Financially, however, I was a mess, lost my apartment, and spent several weeks in a local homeless shelter. Boy, did I learn a lot. - From Successful Businessman To Homeless Addict
- I used to be a successful and wealthy businessman, but I was homeless for 10 years. Before that, I was the owner of 2 Century 21 Real Estate offices with 100 employees. I had recently received an award for having the third highest sales volume for all of Century 21 of Canada and I was doing small real estate developments when I met Marlene and fell in love.
She introduced me to crack cocaine and that was the beginning of my downfall. At the time, I had been considering running for the Mayor's office in East York, but my new lifestyle precluded that. Within 2 years of my first taste of crack, I was bankrupt and living on welfare. Once my money was gone, so was Marlene.
It took 8 more years of constantly downgrading my living conditions before I finally hit the streets.
At first, I tried living in a shelter, but the conditions were unacceptable. I was not willing to submit to a system which required me to sleep only during a specific time period and eat only what was provided and only at specific times which did not correspond to the dictates of my appetite. After breakfast each morning, we were thrown out regardless of weather conditions and not allowed back until lunch. After lunch we were sent back to the streets until supper. If we did not return by a specific time, we lost our bed to someone else and our possessions were put in a garbage bag and left on the floor for anyone to ransack. If they were not claimed within a few days, they were thrown into the garbage. - What Being Homeless Means
- Unless Jesus was kidding about that Sheep and Goats thing, the church is going to have some serious explaining to do.
Being Homeless
Being homeless means wearing clothes you did not pick out.
Being homeless means eating what they give you.
Being homeless means having to hear a sermon before you can eat.
Being homeless means being asked for your ID by the police for being in the park.
Being homeless means hiding everything you own so no one will throw them away.
Being homeless means spending most of your day with addicts and the mentally ill, even if you yourself are not.
Being homeless means people are surprised you have an opinion on the presidential election.
Being homeless means walking several miles to eat.
Being homeless means you hope the crazy street preachers show up because it is Saturday and the soup kitchens are closed. - Under The Stars
- I had decided my best bet was to stay clear of towns and cities during the night hours. I was keen to avoid being kicked and punched and spat on and robbed. Unlike the average homeless person I am in possession of some quite valuable and saleable objects. The sheer volume of belongings I have with me is bound to raise some curiosity and unwanted interest. I therefore thought it best to seek out quieter more rural areas in which to sleep.
- Dawn's Early Light
- Despite exhaustion, it was sometime after midnight when I eventually slipped into an unconscious state on my first night under the stars. It had been extremely cold and the ground had been surprisingly uncomfortable given the springy nature of the mossy blanket covering the soil.
These conditions had conspired to interrupt my sleep every hour, on the hour, until I was fully awake at around 4am. Thankfully though, I had been fortunate enough to see out the night free from any disturbance of the human kind. I had gone unnoticed and was keen to keep it that way by making my exit from the woods as efficiently as possible. - What Fresh Hell?
- Day five at the campsite and I was taking a brisk stroll to the local shops. It was early evening and the temperature is around freezing point. The wind is up again and with takeaway and provisions in hand, I was about fifteen minutes shy of arriving back at my tent when I got caught in a hailstorm. Other than torrential rain this is probably my least favorite type of weather. Face already blue with cold, every pellet feels like a jab with a pin.
- You're Crazy, You Smell, You Must Be Homeless
- I pass people in the street every day and not one of them would know that I became homeless over seven months ago and am still legally registered as such. They wouldn't know because I do not appear to fit the homeless stereotype.
- The homeless at work in the winter
- Chicago Coalition for the Homeless Fighting for the human right to housing since 1980
""But the fact is that if you're unemployed, if you need money, this is one of the few opportunities you may get to work. Around Christmas, some of our people really want a chance to earn a few dollars so they can go out and maybe get a gift for someone they love. It means a lot to them."
"And it may sound cruel, and it may be tough, but some of our homeless residents are willing to do whatever they can to earn a buck. And that flies in the face of critics who claim the homeless are lazy bums who don't want to work for a living. Many of our people are willing to do almost anything, if given a chance, to earn a paycheck."" - Support for Tenters: Committee to End Homelessness Applauds Decision in Latest Anti-Camping Case
- "Homeless people have ? for now ? the right to erect temporary shelter on city-owned land," says Chris Johnson, a member of the Committee to End Homelessness. "If they choose to assert this right, we want them to know that a large group of people are ready and willing to support them in a variety of ways."
- The Adventures of Homeless Girl
- Why did you start this blog?
I enjoy writing and engaging with people so I felt that this would be a gateway to reach out to people and encourage hope and debate.
Why Is it Called: The Adventures of Homeless Girl?
Because I am homeless and have chosen to reveal my thoughts, opinions and experiences. - Norsehorse's Home Turf
- Residing within the Central Vermont area. Although I write as well as blog about many things in general, because my life experiences include having lived homeless off and on over several years in many of its various forms as well as formerly having been on the receiving end of the public mental health system, these and related matters *sometimes* find their way into certain articles and blog posts in one fashion or another. Online access is gained via public online access sites as well as via a recently gifted laptop computer.
- invisiblepeople.tv
- :: real stories by real people bringing visibility to the issues of homelessness ::
- The Homeless Guy: People Lie
- One of the biggest lies in the homeless industry is the one that says, "many people live just a paycheck or two away from homelessness." It's a great line for those who want to generate sympathy for the homeless, especially when they are trying to raise funds for a charity. But, it's just not true. Besides the fact that it takes a mortgage company, or a landlord a couple months to legally reclaim property, there are many things a person can do to extend their stay in a house or apartment, long after they've lost the ability to pay rent.
- The Homeless Guy: God Said So
- I do not assume to know the mind of God. But, something is happening in this country that has happened enumerable times throughout history, even the biblical history of God. For several years now, there has been a movement among the wealthy and powerful in America to harass the poor and the homeless, so to chase them away from the inner cities - inner cities where developers plan to profiteer from redevelopment. There is hardly a city in America where this is not being tried.
- Jamie's Big Voice: You don't have any ties so please take up your bed and leave
- I thought I'd write one last piece for this year about oxford council asking it's the homeless to leave if they couldn't prove that they had any ties to oxford. This is getting ridiculous as homeless people are fast becoming the easy targets of councils all over the country and I do believe what they are now doing is bordering on being illegal. The question is are they taking away ones right to live where they can and choose. Does any council have legal jurisdiction over any ones rights? Its a bit like saying sorry there's no room at the inn but its happening all over England. Another thing is that if the government figures are to be believed a third of the rough sleepers in England are in Oxford.These must be all the above intelligent ones who are now getting university degrees. I wonder if the others are at Cambridge doing the same?
- WanderingScribe
- Feb, 2006. For the past five months I have been living alone in a car at the edge of the woods ? jobless and homeless and totally unable to find a way out. I can't sing, I can't dance, I can't scream loudly enough, alI I can do is write. So here I am laying down tracks...hopefully the start of an online paper trail out of here. (Update: my blog was 'discovered' and I eventually got a publishing deal and made it out of my car to write a book about it... Miracles do happen.)
- the 13th juror: Motivation for killing was "straight-up personal dislike and a little bit of crazy"
- A 30-year-old man has been arrested on suspicion of murdering a homeless man who was doused with a flammable liquid and set ablaze on a street corner last year.
The arrest of Benjamin Mathew Martin caps a nearly four-month search for suspects in a killing that outraged Los Angeles.
LAPD Deputy Chief Charlie Beck said Martin's alleged motivation for the killing appears to be "straight-up personal dislike and a little bit of crazy."
John Robert McGraham, 55, who once worked nearby as a bellman at the Ambassador Hotel, suffered from depression. For two decades he repeatedly spurned efforts of family members and others to remove him from the streets and obtain treatment for him. - NH under the bridge project
- death on the street
Our friend Joe was a diabetic Christian man who lived outside for the past 10 years. He found that he wasnt comfortable at the shelter because people used profanity. When I first met him he told me if I wanted to know who he was I would have to read the book of Job from the bible. He read the New Testament everyday and at Homeless Memorial Day vigils he sang "Amazing Grace"like an angel.
I wish that his story ended the way of Job when God returned him to renewal and prosperity. "And Job died being old and full of days" I do not know the ways of God, perhaps Joe lived to teach us compassion. - "Bored" men planned to bomb homeless man's campsite
- Three "bored" men face criminal charges over their alleged plan to bomb a homeless man's campsite in a wooded area behind a church.
The men -- all in their early 20s -- were charged with possession of a destructive device, a felony carrying a standard 30-year prison term, and trespass, a misdemeanor.
They were arrested near a church in New Castle, Indiana, where police found what were described in a police report as "two homemade incendiary devices (Molotov cocktails)."
About Me
Lensmaster EelKat, aka Wendy C. Allen, has been a member since April 18 2007, has rated 5,618 lenses, favorited 2,858, and has created 396 lenses from scratch. This member's top-ranked page is "Publishing Methods". See all my lenses
My Bio
I love Eels. I love Bobcat. I am a Giant Squid and a Squid Angel.
I am an author and artist who rescues animals & raises Ranchus.
View my page on I Believe.
Are you on FaceBook? Become a fan.
You can find out more about me and my life here: About Me & On Being Homeless
I believe in Faeries, Phookas & Faith Not Religion.
I was a witness to a UFO sighting in Maine.
I am a CosPlayer.
My favorite actor is Vincent Price.
I love reading and writing and spending time with nature.
My favorite author is Keith Laumer and his best book is Retief & the Warlords.
Thanks for visiting my lens.
If I were a month, I would be August.
If I were a day of the week, I would be Friday the 13th.
If I were a time of day, I would be twilight.
If I were a planet, I would be Jupiter.
If I were a sea animal, I would be a giant moray eel.
If I were a direction, I would be East.
If I were a historical figure, I would be ______ ?
If I were a liquid, I would be Moxie.
If I were a bird I would be a turkey vulture.
If I were a cat I would be black.
If I were a dog I would be a Cocker Spaniel.
If I were a tree, I would be a great white pine.
If I were a tool, I would be _______ ?
If I were a flower, I would be a blue flag.
If I were a type of weather, I would be a warm spring day.
If I were an animal, I would be a bobcat.
If I were a season I would be Autumn.
If I were a holiday I would be Halloween.
If I were a color, I would be orange.
If I were an emotion, I would be love.
If I were a sound, I would be laughter.
If I were an element, I would be the water.
If I were a car, I would be a Cadillac.
If I were a food, I would be macaroni and cheese.
If I were a place, I would be Otter Cove.
If I were a body of water I would be the North Atlantic Ocean.
If I were a song I would be "Come Hell or High Water" by Poison.
If I were a book I would be Jane Eyre.
If I were a gemstone I would be a pigeon blood star.
If I were a metal I would be platinum.
If I were a word, I would be unforgettable.
My favorite color is orange.
My second favorite color is blue.
I also like pink.
My favorite city is Old Orchard Beach.
My favorite place to walk is The Ross Forest.
My favorite view is the rocky coast of Maine.
My favorite Disney character is Scrooge McDuck.
My favorite super hero is Darkwing Duck.
My favorite Disney villain is NegaDuck.
My second favorite Disney villain is SteeleBeak.
My favorite super villain is the Joker.
My favorite Disney non-duck character is Tiger.
My favorite trees are white pines.
My favorite flowers are purple iris & blue roses.
My favorite animals are eels & bobcat & roosters & ranchu.
My favorite flavor ice cream is French Vanilla.
My favorite dogs are Cocker Spaniels.
My favorite singer is Serj Tankian.
My favorite musician is Liberace`.
My favorite guitarist is C*C*DeVille.
My favorite food is veggie & rice stir fry.
My favorite pizza is black olive, mushroom, spinach, cheese, dill pickle, & lima bean, with no sauce.
My favorite fruit is grapes.
My favorite place to shop online is Kyoto Antiques.
My favorite non-fiction book is The Self-Publishing Manual by Dan Poynter.
My favorite book is Retief and the Warlords.
My favorite series of books is The Retief Series by Keith Laumer.
IMPORTANT NOTICE:
Due to unexpected circumstances, (an illness and a death) I will be offline for the next few weeks. As a result, the construction of all of my lenses has been put on hold until I am able to return online again. I hope to be back online by late January or early February. Sorry for the inconvenience, please check back again later.
~~~ EelKat
October 16, 2008
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