by Juan Antonio Pacheco

How can I start this? From the now I guess.

Well, here I am starting my fifty-fifth year, doing close to what I damn well please, and, oh yeah, spending most nights in my van. Yes, I can say I paid my dues. Work, kids, and a failed marriage are all part of my past and present. I can also say I attend Cal State Long Beach, where I am preparing myself to teach and develop a career as a documentary photographer. This all sounds great right, well, some problems have arisen!

"You need roots," my daughter, and others have told me. Roots, I thought I had roots. My children and grandchildren are my roots.

You need, "to get on your feet," someone just remarked. Hell, I have been saying this to others, and myself, all of my life. Planning ahead is one of the major factors in a successful life. I say this all the time. Do I really know what I am talking about? How many of us actually live just for today? Very few, and not without good reason . See, there I go again!. Therefore, I have embarked upon this path. I would like to share some photos with you, and hopefully gain some wisdom along the way.

I would like to call my present lifestyle choice, for the lack of a better term, "a study" in simplification. The anti establishment, anti materialistic, and anti-authority mentality is often expressed by a choice to live within the “creases” of society. Being homeless is one of those creases. Homelessness, from my conversations with some who are, has three root causes. One is economic, the other mental health, and for some, an expression of a “freedom of choice”. A freedom from the constraints of “establishment” dictates and mores. These circumstances, as in many circumstances we may find ourselves in, has its roots and consequences. I would like to experience, address, and report on those consequences through my images and text.

I am not attempting to produce neither "works of art" within the guidelines of postmodern aesthetics, nor art criticism. My main interest is dealing with the importance of one's most basic daily needs—food, shelter from the elements, security, and surprisingly, basic human contact, or a sharing of communal space with others whom we feel care about us. These needs are often denied the truly homeless. I feel I must be particularly sensitive to the issues discussed and the images produced, hence: a self-analysis was the best solution. Empathy through self-immersion is the best way I can describe the approach to my subject matter. I am not in any way trying to pass myself off as an “expert”. Thanks for the opportunity to serve, and for providing an audience for my work.

by Joe B.

To all Editor’s, Publisher’s, Literary Agents, and hard working industry people. I, Joseph Bolden, a POOR Magazine’s columnist appreciate comments on on PM’s-website. If time permits read and respond by email or snail me.
Please Do At.

askjoe@poormagazine.org or snail

P.O. Box #645 1230 Market St.

San Francisco, CA. 94102-4801
I’ve no phone but working on it.

Whatever help you can to a struggling scribbler is priceless.

Thank You for reading past and present works.

On an early Thursday, March, 20, 2002. After a thorough wash, teeth brushing, clothed and half ready for the day.

A free oatmeal breakfast before work.

I heard about a KRON 4 telvisised event based on that homeless special report except the very people talked about were not informed so they can have their input stated too since they live “the problem“ everyday.

Its currious that the big hubbub buzz about Newsome and friends are getting yet its not about them but homeless and working poor.

Three servings later I’m walking towards my worksite.

The food is filling, nutritious, and as its liquidy contents slides through me I pick up the pace to be at work where a bathroom is waiting to empty the excess of oatmeal, raisin, and honey cereal.

Inside my workspace,upstairs so if I sensed the internal movement release an hour later before working on my column.

While sitting on the white oval porcelain bowl feeling waste empty out of me the face of Sup. Gavin Newsome pops into my mind and the Arthurian legend.

I haven’t read much about it except Arthur, hidden son of dead king Uthr as a child pulls the Excaliber Sword from a stone becoming a young boy-king, there’s Merlin, the magician and Arthur’s teacher/friend, Morgan Le Fay, Evil half sister and witch or wizardress, Knights of the round table, a sacret quest for the Holy Grail and more lessons before a last fatefull battle and a promice of King Arthur’s return.

Heady stuff, why it happened while taking a dump is a mystery to me.

I also think of the late John F. Kennedy, scion of a powerful Catholic family giving their blood, resources, before, during and after World War II.

Groomed for a future in politics, Joe Kennedy and his crew died while airborne delivering an unstable explosive compound.

Younger brother John Kennedy by proxy is next in line, His PT Boat Patrol Torpedo Boat 109 when his boat was rammed and sunk by a Japanese destroyer, Kennedy, despite grave injuries, led the survivors through perilous waters to safety. Further information can be found on www.pt-309.org
Ok, discount wars, most people statistically don’t go.

I think of Excaliber as Mr. Gavin’s 23 or 30 odd New York's Model homeless plan, Newsome’s Kennedyesque/Arthur role to help the hapless, poor, downtrodden folk. Mayor Former Sup. Amos Brown and W. Brown as Co-wizards in the cast of Merlin as wise teachers of lofty politics.

A new character introduced is Paublo Stuart a paid Psychiatrist as spellbinder Warlock Morgan Le Fay, using his arcane knowlege of human psychology, using hynotic tell-u-vision to lull both live and unseen audiance into believing Arthur and his followers are the hope of working poor and homeless folks using incarceration, spy camera’s, and centralized systems from a differnt city as an ultimate self help plan.

Paul Boden, a Knight of shining truth hopefully with his own paid Psychiatrist or volunteered on what working poor, homeless folk both need and what’s not.
I thought a bit after wiping my butt a few times. “Nah, He dosen’t think he’s has the mantle of Kennedy.

But like Authur he could go amongst the people disguised as a homeless person or working poor, over hear conversations, talk to folks for a week or 3 months and learn what really going on. His plan might change because of realities he see’s first hand not from some house on a mythical hill.
Camelot is no more though many people await its rebirth.

Time for me to work not imagine human alchemy for a changed heart with knowledge newly found. A dream maybe, but who knows...

Reincarnation could be possible, Arthur, the fallen Kennedy’s, and other hero, heroin’s may return in different guises but for now we frail mortals must do the job with souls, saints, and Gods watching from above... Bye.

by Leroy F. Moore, Jr.

I didn’t know it was OK for a person to endure a physically and emotionally painful episode of harassment due to someone’s fear of one’s name! As a Black disabled man I was afraid when David Duke ran for president but I was forced to see and hear him on T.V., radio and in the newspapers. There are many names that bring uneasy feelings to me i.e. Jerry Fallwell, LAPD, Jesse Helms and the man that stole the White House, Mr. George Bush, Jr. But I am forced to swallow my fear, deal with it and go on. Now in this time of war people can be harassed and certain people’s liberties and civil rights can be stepped on because of fear!

On Friday October 5th, 2001 Black Disabled Yahoo listserve had an email entitled “Disabled Muslim Man Faces Airline’s Harassment at San Francisco International Airport.” This man, named Samir, demanded to know why he was taken off two planes and his wheelchair searched by FBI bomb-searching dogs, causing him to miss his flight and have to wait until the following day to catch a plane home to Portland, Oregon. An Alaska Airlines employer said that “the flight attendant didn’t want him there, on the plane. She was basically afraid of his name.” The Alaska Airline’s customer service department called him to apologize and offered him a free ticket. Samir refused to take it and instead asked for a written apology, payment for phone bills he incurred while staying at a hotel as well as the equivalent of one day’s salary (he missed a day of work because of this conflict).

The airline tried to put the reason for the conflict onto the way his wheelchair was packed, not his name. Samir didn’t accept this reason because it happened twice on two different planes, and to have the FBI and everyone check and repack his wheelchair was unacceptable. And when he got home he confirmed that an Alaska Airline employee told him that his name was the reason he could not travel. This statement erases the airline’s excuse — his wheelchair — that caused him to wait eleven hours, putting him in physical distress, just to have the samething happen on a second plane.

Are we Americans going to continue to react to the incident of September 11th without thinking about how our reactions are affecting people of color, people with disabilities of color and the general public? The tragic events of September 11th caused many deaths and much destruction, and now our reactions to September 11th are causing verbal and physical harassment and abuse to our own brothers and sisters of color in our own country. Where is the healing process??

For more information on this case go to read the article written by Samana Siddiqui at

www.onelist.com/community/Blackdisabled

by Joe B.

Wednesday, April, 3, 2002.Between the early morn and night lots of activities happened from Food Bank cruising for donated delicacies to riding a bus on Valencia and listening to Junebug spitting truth, sacred word gems.

Its yet another day of this Wednesday off which I should have slept through then go to a movie but Nooooo, helping out a little for an upcoming “Resistance Award” dinner.

After deciding to forgo movies I leave late after taking a shower, teeth brushed, my recording machine has no batteries in them I’ll be dusting of an old notepad.

There’s a slight worry of being on the wrong bus at night, light panic looking for ”Modern Times Book Store for Junebug’s return from the “Cuba Sustainability Tour Report & Slide Show. It was a joint Ecology Center/Media Alliance and others recently returned delegation from Cuba.

The team visited mostly Havana about Cuba’s Organic Farming, Green medicine, Farmer’s Market, and Agricultual Collectives, and other alternatives to pesticides use in more developed countries like North America.

The Modern Times Book Store next to the Ethiopian Restaurant on 26th and Valencia Street which ment I had taken the right bus at 6:33 pm.!

Ms. June (Verse) is not here.

Tiny is there giving or selling the “Survival Handbook” on the counter, quickly said hi and bye.

Settle down in the rear of the room where a film projector, video machine, and portable movie screen.

I go out, by a mango juice, return-find a seat waiting for whatever will happen.

The slide show, movie, discussion afterwards is lively and energetic but no Junebug although there was a picture on screen showing her self and a cute cuddly puppie.

By 9pm people who are late are able to see the first film full of lively Cuban music and language.

Fighting sleep as I know Junebug did working earlier the same day must have sapped her near limitless energies that’s what I take naps like a demented vampire.

It was a great function to be at even though Junebug has not shown up.

Oh well, life’s-a twitch then your reborn doing all over again without remembering - you did this before. Bye.

by Clive Whistle, PoorNewsNetwork

Clive is a staff writer for POOR Magazine and a member of POOR’s writer facilitation project, which aims to give voice to very low and no income adults and youth desiring to be heard within the media about issues of race and class oppression.

“WAKE-UP..WAKE-UP!!!” Their voices were knives with serrated edges – pummeling through my battered skull.

“Hey Buddy- ya gotta move”- all I saw was four boots, for several seconds I thought I had been attacked by four talking boots- but then I looked further out of my cardboard cave towards the voices and discovered the boots origin – two police officers – writing in their small brown bendable notebooks –about me! - chronicling my hard life in two or three words of short hand- “ African-American….late 40’s…. Homeless…obstructing sidewalk-substance – alcohol-possible 647j and f violation…and so on….

It had taken almost six hours out of my day yesterday to find what I thought was a safe place – safe, of course is relative when you are homeless – it means maybe the cops won’t see you – maybe – you will get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep- maybe you will get an hour or two alone – maybe….

I resigned to move – feeling a little nauseous – but unwilling to appear “uncooperative” I dragged my body forward and began to collect my stu………oh shit.!!…. “Where’s my stuff?” – I looked around – all of my things- my just-cleaned blankets (which I had spent $14.00 of quarters on at the laundromat the day before)….my little radio and my new batteries – but most terrifying of all – my BACKPACK –with my meds, were gone!!! “Officer- where’s my stuff?

“Well. (Department of Public Works).DPW was here before us – - I guess you’ll have to check with them”

Before screaming, crying, hauling off and slugging the officer- landing me in county jail for longer than I care to think about – I blinked back desperate tears and stumbled down the street with my last remaining belonging – a torn and soiled sweatshirt….

I knew this drill - it would take approximately three hours and change I didn’t have to take the bus to the DPW yard which is located across town – at which point DPW people would act like they had no inkling of what I was talking about when I would describe my… out of the way – under the bridge… location where they had “seized” my stuff while I slept …and the description of my worn-out army-issued backpack.

But worse than anything else, was the loss of my meds- it had take me seven weeks of constant calling back and forth to my health provider while they waited for approval of my prescription under medi-cal- another three days after they got approval to reach me who had gone on a “self-medicated” alcohol binge and couldn’t be found and another five hour wait in my health providers office to actually get the meds- I could not go through this again- I could not….

The Civil Rights workgroup of the Coalition on Homelessness has worked for five years with the Board of Supervisors- (the current administration and the past) – Department of Public Works, Rec and Park – the Police department and so on to get a new policy implemented- that gives homeless folks like me a 24 hour notice on our belongings before they take all of our stuff – a hearing was finally held Tuesday July 3rd 2001 – five years, several hundred broke-down souls, and thousands of pounds of precious belongings later – this measure was debated with Supervisors Gonzalez, Ammiano, and Hall in the Rules committee- before it is taken to the full board.

“My office has worked extensively with advocates on the drafting of this legislation and we are very happy to have it before us today as a proposal” Board Supervisor Tom Ammiano introduced the legislation before the committee

“This legislation is extremely important to protect the civil and human rights of homeless folks in San Francisco, Mara Radar from the Coalition on Homelessness began the heated testimony

“1-5% of the people who have their belongings picked up by us come to reclaim it at our yard” Edwin Lee from the Department of Public Works responded to a question by Supervisor Hall on how many people actually retrieved their belongings from DPW.
“We are willing to work with the city in regards to improving the current situation” Mr. Lee concluded

“I am opposed to this legislation because it will lead to the increase the theft of shopping carts” Lieutenant Bruce from the San Francisco Police Department voiced his one sentence opposition and then leaned back in his chair- keeping his eyes fixed on the three supervisors.

“I hear you officer, because I am opposed to the theft of shopping carts but I don’t think this legislation even speaks about that – this legislation only speaks to the issue of personal property – and I believe that people’s right to their own personal property should be protected” Supervisor Hall responded nervously to the Lieutenent’s recalcitrant statement.

“ I understand that the legislation in fact mentions the belongings in a shopping cart or something like that, so I believe after reading the legislation that it would in fact promote the theft of shopping carts..” Luitenent Bruce’s’ statements elicited several logical arguments by Matt Gonzalez, Ammiano and Ms Radar on why that was not the case – Supervisor Hall became increasingly nervous and more unsure until the Lieutenant excused himself from the proceedings saying, “Excuse me, I have to go, I have another engagement”

After his departure there was supportive testimony by Sup. Ammiano and Sup. Gonzalez as well as members of the community who advocate for the civil and human rights of homeless folks, as well as several homeless and formerly homeless folks who have lost their stuff over and over again…

“Please try to understand the position of someone who is suffering from mental illness, physical pain and homelessness and has spent several weeks trying to get there meds and then loses it because it is disposed of. Please try to understand how horrible that is for a human being” Mary Kate Connor from Caduceus spoke as one of the advocates with words that described how I feel now and if this legislation does not pass will feel again and again and….

The Personal Property and Storage Container Removal and Storage Ordinance was recommended by the Rules Committee with a 2 to 1 vote and sent on to the full board for approval.

by Michael Manning

To read more about Micheal's case; check out the article Fighting to Stay Alive on Illin-N-Chillin.

Dear Mr. Moore,

I don’t know how to begin to thank you for all your support and aid in my case. I just want to say may God bless you, and thank you so very, very much. Words could never express how very grateful and thankful I am to you. Your gifts could never repay you. You are appreciated my brother. I read the article, Fighting to Stay Alive and it touched my heart and I cried. I felt your concern and genuine care about this ongoing and growing injustice upon disabled people.

As you know I’m serving time on an unjust sentence for defending myself against an unprovoked attack by two armed men. You asked me in your letter to describe my feelings. To be quite honest I don’t even know where to begin. I have so many feelings. One is of devastation at being the victim of a violent attack, only to turn around and be tried as the perpetrator of a crime I did not commit. At times I’m angry because my life, dreams, family and freedom were taken away from me for trying to defend myself by fighting to stay alive. Other times I am perplexed at how all the evidence in my case points to my innocence, by showing self-defense. For example, the county’s own forensic scientist, Dr. Isadore Mahalikis, confirmed that the wounds I sustained in the attack were defensive wounds and that I was the victim. Furthermore the deceased had no defensive wounds on him. My clothing was ripped and torn from the struggle, proving that I was the victim, not the aggressor.

This forensic pathologist testifies 95 percent of the time on the county’s behalf, so he was not a freelance pathologist, nor was he hired by my defense attorney. The district attorney acquired him. When he rendered his opinion and facts in my favor he was dismissed as not being credible by the prosecution. At that time the county’s own coroner described the point of entry and direction in which the knife punctured the aggressor and it totally bolstered my version of how the stabbing occurred. My attorney demonstrated how the version I testified to was consistent with the coroner’s description, also pointed out that the prosecution’s theory was inconsistent. Then there is the testimony of a retired detective who testified that the second aggressor was two feet behind me with a baseball bat.

There are so many inconsistencies in the prosecution’s theory and it just amazes me that I was convicted. But, as I looked up to the jurors that sentenced me I notice that none were my peers; no one there was of my race or age group. An alternate juror was overheard making a remark stating, “Mr. Manning is lucky I’m not on the panel. I would have gave him 1st Degree murder just cause he is a ‘Nigger.’”

It’s a living nightmare how racism still plagues us. I had to sit on trial and defend not only my life, but my disability, as I was humiliated by the district attorney as he accused me of lying about my disability and being lazy, not a contribution to society. I was asked by my attorney to demonstrate how I walk without the aid of my cane. After I had done so, the district attorney remarked, and I quote, “I can pretend not to walk also,” persuading the jury to believe I was not disabled and able to walk.

The judge made a comment saying, and I quote again, “I think I know how this works. My wife is a physical therapist, if someone says you're in a pain you’re gonna believe it.” I was facing two prosecutors, one just wore a robe.

The prosecution’s witness testified that I was not the aggressor and that in fact Harry Bureley was, which by Pennsylvania law justifies my situation as self- defense. Plus the fact my fingerprints were not on the weapon, but the prints that were on it were never identified.

I’m just horrified at the gross injustice I’m suffering as well as the injustices others just like me are suffering. There is no justice in this system if you’re Black, poor or disabled. I can’t believe the numbers of disabled citizens in these prisons. I have heard so many horrific stories of injustice. It all comes down to economics; the state gets paid double for a disabled inmate versus a normal healthy functioning inmate. The rising number of disabled inmates is alarming. Something has to be done, people have to be informed of this inhuman treatment. This is why I’m so glad you published this informative, shocking and eye-opening article. We need more people on the outside to be informed and outraged at what’s happening to their follow citizens.

With respect to the recent tragic events in New York and Washington where my family and friends were killed, I pray this spirit of unity will open the public’s eyes to the injustice America inflicts on its own citizens. When America is attacked, it’s called justice when they seek retaliation or revenge on those suspected of attacking us. However, when I’m hacked or another citizen is, and we seek to protect ourselves in the best of battle and not by a revengeful retaliation some time later, I’m labeled a murderer and convicted of a crime I did not commit. It’s very painful to see how this country and system fail us where we are supposed to be protected.

It is really hard to stay focused when you’re wrongfully incarcerated. People can never imagine the pain, torment, frustration and stress you have, especially when your loved ones, family and friends have to come and see you in this type of environment. And then for them to have to leave without you really tears my heart apart. This particular institution I’m in seems to try to break your family bonds with all their restrictions on visits and phone use, not to mention the outrageous charges from the phone company. I’m blessed and praise God that I’m really close to home so my calls are not very expensive and visiting is not as much of a hardship as many of my friends face.

The more I’m here the more I see that this place is not about correction or rehabilitation, it’s purely economics and punishment. The programs here are pathetic and taught by people with no experience or solid education in any areas.

Most of the people here are very racist, not against one color or race, but in favor of their own religions and disability. I have had several peremptory remarks inflicted on me due to my disability. For example, I have been called a “handicap a–hole” and a “three-legged cripple” because I walk with a cane. There is an investigation on this particular institution for its racist practice of not paroling Blacks and Muslims. It’s truly a living nightmare. People who are wheelchair users as well as us who use canes and walkers are forced to walk about 3/4 of a mile for our meals. In the winter we’ve to battle snow and ice, hard rains and frigid tempatures just to be feed the slop they offer us.

I dream about the day I’m released and back with my family and friends. When I get out I want to join organizations such as Disability Advocates of Minorities Organization to help fight for disabled men. There are too many disabled men in these prisons wrongly and unjustly. There are not many Black disabled men here due to the location but there are a lot in the system who need to supported and heard from, so I would like to help as best I can.

My advice to anyone who is disabled and caught up in this system is to put faith in Christ and fight. Try to keep focused, though it’s very hard. You’ve got to keep praying and never cease and think positively and know you will come out of this. Most of all do not get caught up in the negativity these types of environments breed. Stay true to yourself and keep God first and everything else will fall into place. It’s a test of faith and a very hard one at that. When you can’t go on anymore and want to give up just let go and give it to God.

by PNN staff

On may 1, 2002, international workers day in front of Diane Feinstein's office Low wage workers, immigrants and working-class families gather to demand..

*Dignity and equal rights for immigrant workers!

* Not one more cent for the repression and violence of the I.N.S. amnesty & national sanctuary: stop INS raids.

*No to collaboration between the police and the INS.

*No to the national ID law that will discriminate against immigrants
dignity for our working class families and communities!

*Stop discrimination against homeless people.

*Support the national affordable housing bond.

*No to the cutbacks in social services.

*More funding for living wage jobs.

*Freedom for the people of the third world!

*Not one more cent for Israeli terrorism against the Palestinian people.

*No to military intervention in Colombia.

*No to military intervention in the Philippines.

The organizers included INS watch, POWER (People Organized to Win Employment Rights), St. Peter's Housing Committee, Latinos Contra la Guerra, Housing not Borders - Coalition on Homelessness, Chinatown Community Development Center, SF Day Labor Program, Homeless Prenatal Program, La Raza Centro Legal.

by Joe B.

America Loves Consummers,
let's consume shares of

Multi National Corporations.

We worker's can Share Wealth locally and globally.

Blue, pink, white, or no collars, skilled, unskilled, low wage-working poor
families, homeless people, single mother's, father's [who's work is not counted.]

hollywood talent, to hi-tech folks; we all have one thing in
common we're all WORKERS.

Some are paid better salaries, weekly, hourly wages but We Are All WORKERS.

My plan:Worker's Inc. It includes Pooling our collective experiences and/or expertise in economics, and
spread the wealth locally.

That's step 1)
step 2) is pooling monies of many workers in investment clubs, economic enclaves with retired
stock brokers or pentioners as instructors teaching insider skills
to working poor, homeless people or anyone willing to learn
the true realities of local and international economic systems.

Step 3) Spreading the wealth to people who really need it like elderly with with cronic
illnessess, war veterans, sick and dying children, or fast tracking renewable alternative energy research and development.

Step 4) Global Spread of the monies made by Worker's.

International Money Market fund investing keeps
diversifying, dividing as workers help others as they've been helped keeping Worker's Corp. or Inc.
vibrant and strong.

Owning large chunks of American real estate either swampland, desert, or land deemed worthless
could be a first way of getting off-world to be independent of all governments.

Using Capitalism against Capitalism may sound like an oxymoron
in this case it just might work.

Because we workers know the money talks and BS walks.
Let's form many W.I./W.B.A. [Worker's Inc, Worker
Buy America concloms of our own.

I know working poor and homeless America and abroad can do much better than Multi Nationals.
Isn't it about time to really BUY AMERICA?".

Remember:If art work, begging netted us 30, 50, to 100,000 dollars quickly magically we're no longer working poor or homeless folk but entrepreneurial geniuses instead.

P.S. Any suggestions to get this rolling or improving on this concept?

Write me C/O Poor Magazine.

Ask Joe at 255 9th St.

San Francisco, Ca.94103

email askjoe@poormagazine.org

For Joe only snail mail:

PO Box 1230 #645

Market St.San Francisco,

CA. 94102

by Joe B.

Tuesday, Oct.16, 2001, 8:45 am.

Whisper of winter not chilly enough for an overcoat.

Seeing Select President G.W.Bush Jr. actually say no to the Taliban regime when they suggested a neutral country to discuss terms of handing over Osama Bin Laben.

Only when he's satisfied! Does this guy know he's President of all the people not just hawks but doves, conscientious objectors, and anti-war activist's also?

It is chilling to see him determined to "stay the course of" war and not even contemplate alternate ways to settle this quickly, safely, using diplomatic means.

We do not have a King but G.W. is acting like one. Let’s not compound the problem in 2004. Bye

Please send donations to Poor Magazine C/0 Ask Joe at 255 9th St. Street, San Francisco, CA. 94103 USA

For Joe only my snail mail:
PO Box 1230 #645
Market St. San Francisco, CA 94102
Email: askjoe@poormagazine.org

by Connie Lu and Dee Gray/PNN

Dusk - the streets are quiet except for a few passing buses and the occassional car. I am walking up 3rd street towards the Third Baptist Church to attend a neighborhood meeting about the shelter at the Church, or what my editor calls - a meeting about NIMBYISM (Not in My Backyard)
On my way, I pass by a few homeless men, who
are patiently and quietly waiting for the shelter at
Third Baptist Church to open. I ask them how I could
get into the church and was kindly directed around the
corner to an open door

I arrive to find my co-worker Joseph Bolden, staff writer and
photographer for POOR Magazine/PNN, in the second row
of chairs at the Third Baptist Church. The room
itself is spacious with an old piano in the front and
several doors along the white walls decorated with a
few posters and bulletin boards. I look down at the
dark red carpeting with gray grid lines and begin to
notice the muffled sounds of footsteps coming from
upstairs. I hear quick feet scurrying above, I
imagine the pure innocence of small children running
freely in laughter. I also hear the applaud of an
audience as it penetrates through the walls of the
church from a nearby room and flows into where I await
for the Alamo Square neighborhood meeting to begin.

The neighbors of Alamo Square, located in District 4
of San Francisco, invited Matt Gonzalez, who is on the
Board of Supervisors for their district to express
their concerns about the homeless shelter in their
neighborhood during the meeting. The shelter is
located in the Alamo Square district (near the Western Addition) at Amos
Brown's Third Baptist Church. The meeting begins with
Gonzalez approaching the front of the room, as he
opens the meeting up for questions. The residents bring up several
issues and concerns, which are then addressed by
Gonzalez. Then the issue of the homeless shelter is presented.

As the discussion about the shelter begins, I remember the men outside who gave me directions, despite their polite
mannerism towards me, I still expected to hear only
complaints from the neighboring residents about the
homeless being unwanted nuisances because
unfortunately that's how they're perceived.

However, Arla Ertz who lives close to the shelter at Third
Baptist Church begins by voiceing her compassion for the
homeless during the meeting. She explains, "Poverty
is a serious crisis. I would really like us to be
compassionate. I find the homeless to be very
respectful. I don't experience any noise from them."

Prior to the meeting I had spoken with another shelter resident, who stayed at a different shelter near Third Baptist Church. She
agreed with Ertz and explains, "I was treated well at
the shelter, and in turn, the homeless residents respected the neighbors."

Another resident of the Alamo Square neighborhood
named Steve Crosley said, "I am not so much bothered
by the homeless people themselves, but I feel that the
church should be more open about discussing the
shelter with the community."

Then Joseph from POOR Magazine suggested that we invite Amos Brown, Pastor of the Third Baptist Church, to the meeting so the neighbors could
voice their opinions about the homeless shelter since
he was actually present at church, but just not at the
meeting. However,Joseph's suggestion was not taken
into consideration because Captain Fagan of the SFPD
defended Pastor Brown, claiming that the invitation would
not be appropriate because it would not give Pastor Brown
enough prior notice. Matt Gonzalez then closes the
issue of the shelter by suggesting, "It would be a
good idea to call Brown to invite him to discuss the
issues about the shelter before we go any further."

Currently, there are several contradictory issues
surrounding the shelter at Pastor Brown's church because he
has been very outspoken about his views against the
homeless. The whole time he was a SF board supervisor he voted against all civil rights issues regarding issues of homelessness and poor people. Yet he decided to open a shelter for the
homeless at his church. In addition to this paradox,
Ertz explains that the shelter, which is scheduled to
close by the end of June is an "illegal shelter"
because Brown does not have a permit to run it either.

After the meeting, I spoke with Arla, a warm-hearted
woman who notified POOR Magazine of this meeting in
the first place due to her concern for the growing
Nimbyism in her neighborhood. She spoke with concern for the
homeless residents of the shelter in her calm and soothing voice.
My desire to understand the source of her compassion leads me to
asking her why she cares for the homeless. She
describes her job as the Program Director for
"Draw Bridge," which is an art program for homeless
children and how she was raised and taught to be
empathetic.

I leave the meeting and the afternoon sun has faded into a dark night sky. I walk past the shelter. I listen for the supposed noise claimed by the neighbors. Once again, I hear nothing but the occasional car and my quickly approaching bus.

Letter to POOR from Arla Ertz

I really appreciate the interest of the POOR staff, and I appreciate your following up on this issue. I went to another meeting on Wednesday. It wasn't a meeting of the neighborhood association, but of "McAllister Neighbors." These are folks who live closest to the Third Baptist Church, not the whole Alamo Square Neighborhood Association (ASNA) group. This meeting was specifically for neighbors concerned about the shelter.

This was the hardest meeting of my life so far, I think. I had no allies in
that room whatsoever. I found it disheartening to be so unheeded and to see
that I live among people whose classism runs so deep, yet they are clueless
about it and simply think they're right and that naturally everyone should
live like them. Anyway, I'm attaching the minutes of that meeting for you.
I notice that nothing I said appears in the minutes. It's like I wasn't
even there. I thought I presented myself very diplomatically and swallowed
a lot of things for the sake of maintaining a dialogue. However, at one
point when I proposed talking with the people at the church and inviting
someone from the Interfaith Council to be present, a woman there said, "Why
negotiate against yourself?" She said we must advocate to shut the shelter
down so the city will learn to do these things right. Another man lectured
me, saying we must advocate the same. I said I'd go a step farther and
suggested we advocate for housing that's affordable to poor and homeless
people and then they wouldn't even need shelters. The whole group
simultaneously shouted me down at that point.

Anyway, you get the idea. And as well, they rejected the idea of Matt
Gonzalez conducting mediation sessions. They said Amos Brown won't talk to
Matt Gonzalez.

Thanks again for your interest and help,

Warmly,

Arla

For more information you can contact them at:

Alamo Square Neighborhood Association

P.O. Box 15372

San Francisco, CA 94115

Phone: 552-0673 (Sue Valentine, president)

by A Faye Hicks

The PEOPLE are being Scattered

shuffling along with, blankets, backpacks, shopping bags & pushing carts

No more Unity in the poor Nations

Park benches uprooted----shopping carts over-turned, homeless people unjustly
arrested

Police circling around like VULTURES,camouflaged as Human Beings

The sick living in doorways, & behind cardboard boxes.

Bathrooms locked, water fountains denied

“This is a sad state” Thought the tired so-called Bag Lady

Alone, Mental Facilities sorely tested, Weakened by a gnawing hunger.

From her womb, Misery was etched upon her copper tone belly

She paused too rest for a moment

Dark eyes glazing into the distant skies

Pondering the next move

Remembering the Peaks of her non-existance

An old Lady at Eighteen

Birds flying in formation, overhead

Dark clouds floating, silently in shapes of nightmares

Her only safe shelter the Blazing Sun, capturing her attention

“If only I had a Star to wish upon or Something I can get some energy from.

She stepped upon the wet, well-cut lawn of a Californian City Hall

Its dampness drinking in & nourishing her being

Her breast painful from unused Mother’s Milk

Sticking to her dress, Ragged around the edges of her soul.

Its wetness the Morning Dew or Her Deluge of Tears

Coming from deep within a inner well.

THE POOR POOR NATION

Ah, The grass, so soothin to her wiggling toes. COMFORT

Half worrying about Police Surveillance

Knowning she was on Public Property

Not daring to rest

Because a trespassing ticket, would dip off into her Funds?

The gold nail polish on her sun burnt toes glinting magically

Spiraling undrugged thoughts upward seeking SUCCOR

A hole in the Bushy Hedges?

Dare she rest? A Haven?

Her curled into a Tiny Ball! Her hide-away bed The City Hall

With its Black & Gold Dome, warrin against a winter sun

A King’s Ranson, Battling against the principals of the Homeless Nation

Unnatural Flags, weavin in the Beautiful Breezes, Compromising Life

One Nation Under God?

YO! YES

The power hunger god!

The prestigous god!

The Greedy Gut god!

And The blood thirsty one!

Ah, Knowling she signed, Better get a move on

There is no rest for my weary Bones here.

by Anna Morrow

There is a pristine cleaniliness

that comes from digging through these mazes

This relentless naughty jungle that keeps hostages

of folks that are mightier and penniless

A purity of soul transcends them

hovers over the sticky hot cement

Posibilities rise up from the sweaty pavement

where people hold there hands out

Working hard barely moving in active

participation of grassroots tithing

Consumed by meakness and hostility

dispising and worshiping themseves -

day after dingy day

The monotony collides with hypnotize:

an unavoidable medititation

of what it is to be without

To be lifted up, to fly away

outside this body that offends some

that most everyone ignores

I might rise up above the masses

confessing the secrets of these trenches

shouting out all of the inadequacies and betrayals

into the wind into the ear of god

You could tell the story of our lineage

how our once humble hearts were belittled

and now are humbled once again

by the history of our grievances

the tale of our common sorrows

Unashamed Unadorned Unappologetic

by by Ka Ponda

My body had convinced my mind that a hot meal and a peaceful
environment would soothe the exhaustion caused by the rigor of the grueling
day. The aroma from a nearby restaurant titillated my palate as my feet
labored down the red, brick path. Suddenly, out of a recess, the sound
of a distressed voice pierced my left ear. Inhaling my cigarette, I paused
to listen to its cry. It was the impassioned plea of a man asking if someone
could help him through the maze of people on the bustling downtown San
Francisco street. Before I could reply, the thunder of a menacing voice
pierced my right ear, "Vacate the premises immediately!!"

I was perplexed as to why the men in blue had directed the glower of
their bigotry at my, for no apparent reason. I then asked, "Why must I
vacate, since I just stopped?"

"Because there is no loitering here" they yelled back to me.

The person for whom I had stopped revived his courage, grumbled some
inaudible gibberish and departed like a bandit. The wind chased the ruddy
ashes of the cigarette to the edge of my lips as the nicotine particles
slowly tumbled to claim their place amid the other debris on the street.
After a quick dialogue of barbs, I tossed the butt of the spent cigarette
and thought it wise to move along. 

"Why are you giving me a ticket?" I asked, incredulously.

Using the ticket as his dagger, the man in blue retorted with a wry
expression, "For littering, have a nice day!"

1997

The morning hinted of
a nice day.

It was the kind of magic in the air that only a crisp day in late December
could produce. I deposited my paycheck and withdrew funds from the bank
and started on my way to work. As I walked east on Golden Gate Street in
the direction of Stockton Street, I stopped to talk with a former co-worker,
Ronnie Eagles. We talked in front of the building out of which Mr. Eagles
had still been employed.

As we talked, a voice blared, "Hey John, are you still on parole?" It
sounded like the hue and cry directed toward an habitual criminal or some
low-life individual and not a civilized person attempting to communicate
with another person.

We turned to see a haggardly,
bleary-eyed person sitting in an automobile staring straight into my eyes,
seething for an answer to his question,. I calmly informed the person that
my name was not John and I had never gone to prison. He then demanded that
I come to his car and show him some identification. He had not shown me
anything representative of an official of the law, nor was he in a San Francisco
Police Department uniform. Since I had just come from the bank, I had no
intention of opening my wallet to a person inside a car behind the steering
wheel with the motor running. As Mr. Eagles and I stood, the two men stormed
out of the car in a frenzy and barreled toward me. I had never seen these
two men in my entire life and was baffled that they pretended to have known
me and wondered about their intent. Once again, I reiterated to them, "My
name is not John, and I have never in my life been in prison." 

One of the two men flashed a badge as he aggressively moved towards
me. When I saw his badge I realized that I had been arbitrarily singled
out for harassment and that my rights, guaranteed by the Fourth Amendment
to the Constitution, had been violently trampled upon by these two agents
of the law. I asked Mr. Eagles to walk inside the office building and get
the staff attorney, Judy Appel. Mr. Eagles returned with a video camera
and documented the incident. He stopped recording and went inside, again,
to get the director, Paul Boden.

The two officers handcuffed and crammed me into the front seat of their
small car while Messrs. Boden and Eagles were coming out. The car was not
designed to transport a six-foot person in handcuffs as I was in a contorted
position during the trip.

At the police station, I was asked to be seated on a metal bench while
still wearing handcuffs. I informed them that I had a bad knee due to an
operation for torn anterior cruciate ligaments and that it was aggravated
by the position in which I had been during the trip in the small car. They
forcibly shoved me onto the metal bench and then began jeering me as though
I had been brought in for some heinous crime. The sergeant, who had no
knowledge of what had happened or why I was there, chimed in with a ludicrous,
stereotypical comment that he was going to send me back to prison, as though
I had already been in prison. 

After they had checked my records, they removed the handcuffs from my
wrists and released me. I called my employer, J. Boragine & Associates,
and explained what had happened and that I was in no physical condition
to report to work. I went to the emergency room at San Francisco General
Hospital on Saturday, December 20th, and was provided with treatment.

by Joseph Bolden

Folks, if you’ve read my work you know the topics I write about run the gambit from stressed out poor families to senior citizens being kicked out of their homes to asteroids hitting Earth, our eventual evolution into Q–humanity or Quantum-like beings with near God/Goddess-like control over the cosmos.

Here’s an example off the top of my head:

When humans learn how to take apart, repair, and reconfigure the very strands {molecular strings}farther down beyond our DNA structure we may just become The Q.[Mr. John de Lancie's character on S.T.T.N.G. and the Voyager series.]

When and if we become Q’s how does one commit the unspeakable act of suicide when no toxic poison, radiation, disease, or accident can harm or kill us because our biological imperative prevents this. This would be the psychological equivalent of the Federation’s Prime Directive… Do No Harm To self, other Q’s, q like beings, Human’s, Vulcan’s, Romulin’s, Klingon’s or other lower sentient beings.

Now, I know many of us are thinking that way, right? That’s why I must constantly monitor myself so my columns don’t turn into whacked out scenarios like the one above. I’m thinking this fiction/factual bleed is telling me that something in my destiny stuff that has to be faced. I hope some of you readers snail mail me to give me suggestions on how some of you faced the same crossroads. What was your decision when your personal crisis arrived?

P.S. If any of us survive to actually become Quantum Humans and can travel back to the good old late 1970’s to 2000's era, please look me up by reading my mind and others’ minds sometimes. I wouldn’t mind learning the ways and rules of Q-life, which might take a few hundred to a thousand years to learn. But if you have the time I can at least be a persistent if slow learning student.

I may be slow but when I get it stays got. The same goes for Alchemists, Wizards, Witch’s, Time traveling mortals or Immortal’s, Alien’s, and pure mental entities with a soft spot for struggling sentient beings like myself.

I really don’t want to die[fate shmate]and do this over and over to get it right.

Until next time Live, Love, Learn, Evolve.

Please send donations to Poor Magazine C/0 Ask Joe at 255 9th Street, San Francisco, CA 94103 USA

For Joe only my snail mail:
PO Box 1230
645 Market Street
San Francisco, CA 94102
Email: askjoe@poormagazine.org

by Dee

Farmer Sherwoods glass eye shone as the light from the

candle flickered off the glass. The glass was milky

white and it reminded me of my mothers arm and why it

was that I was sitting on Farmer Sherwoods lap in the

middle of the night without my pajama bottoms.

My mother's arm had been milky white also - milky

white in contrast to the crimson blood that spurted out

of the wrists she had cut.

"Go get Mrs Sherwood at the end of the hall", she

whispered faintly. It didn't make sense to me at four

years old why I should get Mrs Sherwood just because

my mother was bleeding from her wrists. Mrs Sherwood

who immediately started screaming and running around

like she was crazy the minute she saw my mother's

milky white arm covered with blood.

Mrs Sherwood's screaming and yelling caused me to get

afraid in the pit of my stomach just like later when I

looked at Farmer Sherwood's milky white glass eye -

when I was all alone with him and didn't have my

mother to protect me from the flickering candle light

on, Farmer Sherwood's glass eye, when he made me sit

on his lap in the middle of the night......

by Staff Writer

A 'Survivor Knockoff: "Homeless Survivor" where the competitors are homeless people in from the streets. [I already don't like the premise].

Living near an alternative rock station KCXX (103.9 - FM). This "Dick and Justice show can possibly do better than be a temporary ratings booster.

The competition: racing shopping carts, opening cans of food the fastest and picking up cans while riding a tricycle. I read that San Bernadino City Officials are humorless on this subject which suits me fine.

It’s a ratings rational. It is pathetic that people already on the margins of society are further reduced to another reality based tv show.

And the prizes: A "temporary" home, some cash and a haircut.

The competitors said they love the idea and don't feel they're being exploited.

I don't know exposure of an individuals plight can help him or her struggling to get their lives back in order; but just a temp home, a bit of money and a haircut?

There should be more like a permanent home, work/training in radio/ tv or video production.

And 1 to 250,000 in their name and accountants showing her/him the best ways to live off the money without touching the princible(hope that's correct?) 1 to 250,000 or more.

They may not be millionaires but with permanent housing, interest money montly, by-montly or annually plus possible annuity and ed or re educa- tion.

If this concept is better looked into and expanded the D&J show would have more than a one-time gimic or someone will do it better then the homeless, sheltered, and working poor too can reap benefits otherwise denied us in this "slowed down-return to '1980's economy.

What do San Bernadinians or others think?
As for me, I still would like to have a partime job as a Housesitter in some swank digs in the Oakland Hills, or Beverly Hills in Los Angeles.

Send me a bus or airling ticket or Housesitters tell me how I can break in… to the House Sitting business folks, not homes.

Questions? Opinions? You Know The Drill Folks.
Send checks or MOs in c/o Joe at Poor Magazine

255 9th Street
94103 USA
e-mail www.poormagazine.org

For Joe Only
1230 Market Street
P.O. Box 645
San Franciso, Ca 94102

by Joseph Bolden

Pearl Harbor is about how the Japanese, supposedly without warning, bombed Hawaii's Pearl Harbor. The early morning air raid happened on December 7, 1941.

On our way to see Pearl Harbor things began to unravel.

1. I was going to go by car but then it broke down. Having no money I thought, "Can’t go, goody." [WRONG]

2. My boss gave me two dollars to catch the Geary bus.

3. I got there before 6pm and another student was holding a place in the line for
me in case I was late. Of course there was a long line for Pearl Harbor.

4. Two of us wait— Mr. Takuya Arai, a Poor Magazine student who is going
back home to Japan would not be able to see the movie there until July 15. So he’ll see it first hand here and compare it with how he and his friends and nation view it when he sees it back in Japan. Takuya says, "There’s not many Japanese in the line." I hadn’t noticed. There are also not a whole lot of brothers or Latino’s, but there are lots of whites and mixed couples.

5. I thought many people had entered the theater before our little group and that there'd only be space way in the back or too close to the screen. Luckily it was not as crowded as I had imagined.

6. I had been assigned to see this film. It's not what I'd choose to do on Memorial Day.

7. I heard Disney paid $150 million dollars for this epic of tragic proportions. Between the $75.1 million the movie will pull in over the four day weekend, Disney Studios will more than break even on this super patriotic salute to heroism of the dead and living heroes.

8. The plot is as follows. Two boyhood friends dream of flying and war, fall for the same girl, one gets shot down and is presumed dead, but comes back to find his girl with best friend. They fight, escape from MP's (Military Police) and they settle their feud before volunteering for a dangerous Tokyo Boming.

9. "A pinprick compared to Japan’s Heart," says Lieutenant Colonel James Doolittle (Alex Baldwin).

10. It's surprising Dory Michel (Cuba Gooding Jr.) didn’t die along with others in the process of their baptism by fire are stronger. Yet I did not see many blacks, red, browns, and near the end a Japanese medic helps a wounded American soldier and the soldier says, "I don’t want that Jap touching me."

11. When it was over there was no let down, but the hype wasn’t worth the price of the $8.75 ticket. The movie ends at 10:20pm. Not wanting to yak about it I wave bye to coworkers and students and catch a 38 Geary bus, returning home by 11:15 p.m.

12. It's over, the immensely forgettable effects, unlike the real documentary footage from the actual event. At least it was free.

Wait a sec'. if I didn't like this free film, what about those folks shelling out real cash to see this fiasco? I shutter to think how they feel.

Please send donations to Poor Magazine
C/0 Ask Joe at 255 9th St. Street,
San Francisco, CA. 94103 USA

For Joe only my snail mail:
PO Box 1230 #645
Market St. San Francisco, CA 94102
Email:askjoe@poormagazine.org

by Leroy F. Moore Jr

I can’t rest

My disabled brothers and sisters are dragged, shot and beaten to death

Society is scared of him..Big, black and mentally ill

Take him away and give him more pills

I can’t sleep

My disabled brothers and sisters are living on the streets

The ADA has done nothing for me
Listen to my life

Got raped in a shelter

Got robbed on the streets

Three strikes and now I’m in prison for life

I can’t rest

28 million dollars for Ed Roberts’ Campus

Can’t even get my SSI cause I have no address... Does anybody care?

Disabled youth abused in foster car..Segregated in school.. now I’m on welfare

My disabled brothers and sisters are put to rest...

On the streets, in psychiatric wards and in prison

But I feel your spirit and anger in my chest

I won’t rest..Your spirit and anger won’t rest

...We won’t let you rest