[Hpn] *Long*: Missing & Forgotten:When the Towers Fell, Homeless People Disappeared

Morgan W. Brown norsehorse@hotmail.com
Wed, 28 Nov 2001 12:32:27 -0500


-------Forwarded article-------

Week of November 28 - December 4, 2001
Village Voice <http://www.villagevoice.com>
[New York City, New York]
Features section
Missing and Forgotten
<http://www.villagevoice.com/issues/0148/friedman.php>

When the Towers Fell, Homeless People Disappeared. Their Friends Are Still 
Searching.

>From the Margins Erased
by Andrew Friedman


There was this one lady named Arlene, and another named Maryann. A shoeshine 
guy named Jack. A guy named Keith. An elderly woman named Rose sat by the 
PATH train bathroom. Marvin, a tall, gray-haired man with a dark complexion, 
stood around tower one every morning, there by the N train, regular as a 
dripping faucet.
Carlos, a tall Jamaican some called Ras, wore his hair in dreadlocks and 
thoroughly cursed any social worker who tried to move him. When people asked 
him his problem, he rubbed his goatee and explained that it wasn't 
homelessness, it was spiritual. Once in a while, the neatly dressed beanpole 
Mr. Mann came striding through the concourse. The self-appointed mayor of 
the World Trade Center, he assigned himself the task of delivering grand, 
free-floating oratories to passersby. He was scheduled to meet with the 
president of the United States soon.

They all used the World Trade Center as a place to sleep, panhandle, or pass 
the time before September 11. They all remain unaccounted for. Their friends 
and acquaintances fear they died when the towers fell, perhaps only a small 
portion of the still uncounted street people who perished that day. No one 
papered the city with flyers bearing their pictures. No family members came 
in with their toothbrushes to identify their DNA. Maybe their families 
didn't even know where they were. They died in the anonymous way they lived. 
Their memories now depend on the informal network of people who saw them 
every week, yet perhaps knew them only by a nickname, a first name, a 
familiar face.

Osbie Wiley collected cans at the twin towers for the last five years. He 
ran a table for the United Homeless Organization at the corner of Liberty 
and Church streets. When the planes hit, he ran. But he does not think 
everybody did.

"The public should recognize that homeless people lost their lives at the 
World Trade Center, too," says Wiley, 47. "I've been going down there quite 
a long time now, and I have a strong feeling that a lot of people did not 
get out. An investigation needs to take place, because those homeless people 
could have left behind survivors, too. A lot of people on the street still 
got families."

The United Homeless Organization is keeping a tally of the missing, a list 
that so far contains more than 50 names and whatever descriptions people 
could provide. They held a memorial service last month in Union Square, 
where they observed a moment of silence and a minister prayed for the dead.

The towers drew homeless people from across the city. They formed their own 
culture on the broad, bustling concourse filled with stores. They slept near 
the E train, in the long hallway that stretched out from the A, in the 
tunnels of the PATH train. They hung out on the ledge by the Chase bank ATM, 
in the nook next to Golden Nugget Jewelry, by the phone bank at building 
five, by the entrance to the 1 and 9. In the summer months, they congregated 
on the plaza by the fountain. In the early mornings, they crowded the sinks 
and washed up together in the bathrooms.

The Trade Center had energy to it. It was clean, safe, and warm in the 
winter. Some old-timers had been there 15 years and knew the place up and 
down. "They would sleep by our store," says Samuel Benejan, who managed the 
Ben & Jerry's by the south tower. "We had a kiosk, and it was a warm place 
to sleep. I'd wake them up in the morning at 5:30 and give them a cup of 
coffee. You'd see the same guys over and over again, not new people. The 
guys there knew the routine, where to stop, how long 'til the police came 
around. Those guys lived there. It was their home."

With all the traders and financiers charging around, some feeling generous 
after their business lunches, the money could be good. One fellow knew a guy 
who could clear $50 in a few hours. In large part, though, they came for the 
same reason they go to the bus terminal on 41st Street—it's patrolled by 
Port Authority police. Many think Port Authority cops are just plain nicer 
than city ones. They'd let you sleep in peace at night, and only made the 
rounds in the mornings, rattling their sticks between 9 and 10 a.m.

But the first plane hit at 8:48 a.m. This worries those who have not seen 
their friends. They cringe at the thought of them sleeping somewhere in the 
tunnels when the towers fell, and more than 1500 feet of the 1 and 9 tunnels 
caved in, and ceilings and steel tumbled to the ground, and the PATH tunnels 
became so severely damaged the station there won't reopen for at least two 
years. Sixty percent of the concourse collapsed or became unstable that day. 
A third of that area is covered in a solid blanket of debris.

A laconic representative for New York City Transit says no riders or workers 
were hurt or killed in the subway tunnels on September 11. Captain Anthony 
Whitaker, the Port Authority officer who led the evacuation, said through 
his spokesman that he is confident his team completely cleared the concourse 
that morning.

"We're not saying there weren't any people there," says spokesman Dan 
Bledsoe. "We're not aware of anybody. And we don't want to speculate."

Timothy Augustus began to frequent the trade center about seven years ago, 
soon after he arrived here from Illinois. He narrowly avoided getting caught 
up in the tragedy because, for a change, he started that day at the Port 
Authority. He'd planned to head downtown afterward.

"I didn't know it had blown down 'til they evacuated the bus terminal," he 
says. "They said, 'Two planes hit the World Trade Center.' I said, 'Oh, 
man.' "

Since then, he has rapped on doors at the shelters and combed the park near 
City Hall, to no avail. "There are 20 to 25 people I haven't seen since," 
says Augustus, 38. "Every day I go around asking about all my friends."

Social workers from Project Renewal, the service agency that had an outreach 
office on the World Trade Center concourse, don't think the number of those 
lost could be nearly that high. "I don't think we had 50 to 100 clients 
there in a three-week period, much less in an hour and a half," says Scott 
Williams, who was director of outreach for their World Trade Center office.

Three Project Renewal staffers started working at the Trade Center that day 
at 7 a.m. They escaped after the first plane hit. Team leader Walter Brown 
says the numbers of homeless people on the concourse had been down that week 
because nicer weather drew people outside. After the attack, Project Renewal 
scoured the city for the people they saw regularly. Slowly, they started to 
turn up. Ruth was walking down Houston Street; Rich found his way to the 
John Heuss House, his regular cantankerous self. Eventually they saw them 
all, except for Mr. Mann and Carlos.

Mr. Mann doesn't worry them so much. They think he had an apartment 
somewhere. He visited the trade center more sporadically than the others. 
Carlos, the man with the dreadlocks who always wore the same sheepskin coat, 
worries them more, although he'd never talk to them without a fight. He had 
taken to hanging out in the train stations around the time of the attack, 
particularly the number 2. Still, Williams has the sense that he's all 
right.

"I'm almost positive he got out of there," he says, sounding like the 
families who conjured hope in the days immediately following the tragedy. 
"Carlos is too ornery to allow that to stop him."

Homeless men who knew him, though, have not seen him since September 11. 
"Being homeless, you usually see people a lot," Wiley says. "You just don't 
see these people anymore.

"There was this one old lady who sat by the bathroom, and she sat there all 
day long, so much that the Port Authority cops never bothered her. I always 
spoke to her, but she was very quiet, a lady who never spoke much. I'd 
always give her food, money, stuff like that. I just haven't seen her 
since."

The UHO is planning to collect information about the missing on their Web 
site at www.unitedhomelessorganization.com.

------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, the situation deteriorates for the living. Immediately after the 
attacks, a new crowd of homeless people seemed to take to the streets. One 
idea has it that rigid new security measures sealed off the nooks where they 
slept, and sent them footing it around town. The attacks also shocked the 
dreaming city conscious of an already disturbing trend.

As the economy sputtered in the months before the attacks, the number of 
homeless New Yorkers using the shelter system hit 29,000, an all-time high 
and an increase of 8000 over 1998. The numbers regularly receiving food 
assistance reached 1.6 million a month, more than twice those of four years 
ago. Many advocates attribute this, in part, to the Giuliani 
administration's obsession with pushing people off the welfare rolls and 
into the insecure, low-wage, or informal jobs that evaporate first during 
hard times. In October alone, some 79,000 jobs in New York City disappeared.

This happened even as the steady current of funding that supports programs 
for the poor began to be diverted to the direct victims of the September 11 
catastrophe. Private donations dropped, at the same time that more people 
needed help. A recent Food for Survival survey found that 64 percent of 
those visiting food banks this fall did so for the first time, many of them 
single mothers who recently lost jobs.

But the problem is not now. The problem is three or four months from now. 
The bruises from the brunt of vanished work will show then, the evictions 
will go through. Unless the city delivers emergency rental assistance and 
protects the working-class from losing its grip, the homeless population 
could explode.

"We're not going to know the long-term impact until a few months out," says 
Patrick Markee, a senior policy analyst at the Coalition for the Homeless. 
"That impact is going to be pretty severe. Homeless families are driven out 
by high housing costs and cutbacks in housing assistance. The Giuliani 
administration for seven years has been slashing the budget for affordable 
housing, while market forces drove up rents. What's frustrating is that the 
general public is sympathetic now for people who have been affected, but 
will that last until the spring? That's tough."

The Holy Apostles soup kitchen at 28th Street and Ninth Avenue, the city's 
largest, saw an 11 percent spike in visitors after September 11, continuing 
an increase that started in early summer. "It was already a bad situation 
made worse by the economy and worse by September 11," says program 
coordinator Clyde Kuemmerle, standing by the kitchen of the 19th-century 
Italianate church on a recent afternoon. "Put all that together and that's a 
pretty hard time for a lot of folks."

Holy Apostles doesn't keep firm numbers, but something like 40 percent of 
the guests have a place to live, and a quarter work full-time jobs. At one 
table a group of bike messengers, all rigged out in expanding fabrics and 
straps in that wind-riding bike messenger way, lament the state of their 
profession. September is commonly the month business lifts back up after the 
summer drag. Instead, it sank. Tightened security slows them down in a job 
based on how fast you can go, and for weeks the air downtown made it hard to 
ride.

Although they say business is improving, they're still making as little as 
$250 a week, when they should be up around $450.

"I've got a family to feed," says Rafael McElrath, 38, who lives in Coney 
Island with his wife and four kids. "Just before it happened I was getting 
18 to 20 jobs a day. On the 11th I had one job the whole day. I stood around 
till four or five and went home. Now I'm averaging 10."

Out front, Dave Parker says he's already noticed a change on the streets. 
"Two months ago, we noticed a large number of new people coming in," says 
Parker, 45. "Now speed up the tape. World Trade Center people were employed, 
with a nice comfort zone. Now it's hard. A lot of people had a little bit of 
money in the bank, but if people miss one or two checks, they'll be 
homeless."

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After the Fall
The Village Voice's ongoing coverage <http://www.villagevoice.com> of the 
World Trade Center attack, the victims, and the aftermath.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Tell us what you think. editor@villagevoice.com

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-------End of forward-------

Morgan <norsehorse@hotmail.com>
Morgan W. Brown
Montpelier Vermont USA



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