Story Archives 2003

by TJ Johnston/PNN Community Journalist

Part 1

Some people blithely reminisce of their first job. My memories aren't so wistful. Still, those memories resurface when I signed on as a petitioner for $6.75 Is Not Enough, the latest drive to increase minimum wage in San Francisco. Assuming this ordnance passes in the November election, the minimum will start at $8.50 for all local businesses. For those who scrape by on the current level, it's money gratefully welcome.

When I was high school, my parents recommended I get a job. They did so with enough edge beyond mere recommendation. My mother knew the manager of the local Howard Johnson's (HoJo’s) and pulled the appropriate strings. I joined the paid workforce as a dishwasher. At least this humble position served as a buffer between home and school.

If you never set foot under their orange roofs, HoJo's is a family style restaurant serving breakfast, lunch and dinner. They became famous for serving milkshakes. I remember Wednesdays there were Clam Fry Days. Before I became a vegetarian, I enjoyed their hamburgers.

Such, such were the joys of washing dishes at HoJo's. The tasks were drudgery. In addition to bussing and stuffing dinnerware in an automatic washer, I also had to take out the garbage, sweep and mop the floors, inspect the bathrooms hourly; in short, I did all the work that was beneath the waitresses, cooks and managers. As befitted someone in my station, I was paid minimum wage.

I started working evenings during the week and mornings on weekends. Weekdays were often dead, but business was brisker on those weekends. I had to wait hours for a lull where I needn't perform some busywork. I remember before an inspection, the staff had to scrub the place down. Most of my downtime was spent socializing with the waitresses who were also my classmates (no, I couldn't get a date with them). Sometimes I would chat with one of the cooks whose musical tastes I didn't share. Between that and his obsession with one of the younger waitresses, he didn't seem together.

Our HoJo's was located right off the town rotary and was open 24 hours. Senior year in high school, my routine changed. As the only dishwasher who was 18, I was assigned to work overnight weekends, often called "bar rush." I had to nap at home before work.

Between 10pm and midnight, it was busy, but the late night crowd horded in to eat after tying one on. Even if they weren't partying, at least they seemed to have more fun than I was. Whatever a normal teenage-hood was, spending 10pm to 6am working at HoJo's didn't fit in. Occasionally, I'd see some of my peers on their way home from Van Halen.
I brought a boom box to fill the kitchen air. It was better than the Muzak usually heard weekdays.

As an adolescent, I knew no better employment option available. I remember actually being paid slightly more for overnights than regular shifts. I had to accept that and having a legitimate excuse to stay out as trade-offs. Then I noticed that a cook who was younger than me and was hired after me earned a higher wage. I brought this objection to my mother. She told me not to complain or else, they'll replace me. So I brought my uniform home for repeated washings through graduation and winter break of my first college year. The next summer, I worked another restaurant nearby that wasn't open 24 hours. That job also sucked (but at least I made salads).

When I think of working minimum wage, I envision my colleagues as people working an after-school or summer job and still living with their families. It shocks me that people attempt to sustain families on these slave wages paid by the WalMarts and Starbuckses of the world. Factor in an increasing standard of living and diminished buying power of the working class and contrast it with the widening economic chasm, you could see how entire populations are truly being "nickeled and dimed" in the US. When I hear some "expert" proclaim that raising minimum wage spells economic disaster for businesses, I try to picture them in a HoJo dishwasher outfit, complete with silly paper hat. These employees face disaster without a raise. The pundits seem inured from this supposed fallout. If the current campaign to bolster the paychecks of SF minimum wagers succeeds, we could avert financial catastrophe.

*****************************************************

Part 2

Late June 2003--- I got a job petitioning for a San Francisco ballot measure to increase minimum wage: instead of the current $6.75 an hour, a floor of $8.50 is proposed.

It was fortuitous that I saw Supervisor Matt Gonzalez gathering signatures near a neighborhood Safeway and I asked where to join. Before, I was close to enlisting in a "Recall Governor Davis" effort. Increasing paychecks is something I could stand behind.

I ran to the headquarters of the petition drive and started the next day.

Exploring the territory of John and Jane Q. Voter in this town is already daunting. If they take public transportation to and from work, they already turn on a defense mechanism so they could ignore the clipboard brigade. The presence of other petitions further confuse would-be signers. Add language barriers and political disengagement to the mix and you have an idea of the challenges signature gatherers face.

Unlike others, this drive paid by the shift, not by the signature: it works out to $11.00 an hour and I get reimbursed for public transit. The major caveat, though, was that the boss expected at least 100 signatures of SF registered voters. She said it wasn't fair for her to pay the same to one who gets 100 and another who falls short by about 50 or 60. She said she just flew from Texas for this campaign and I knew she had a lot to learn about local politics.

In her article, "The World's Largest Gated Community," (Poor News Network, Oct. 22, 2002) Carol Harvey observed how the campaigns of Props N and R were concerted efforts to economically cleanse San Francisco. Gavin Newsom's Prop N, recently overturned by a state court, would have slashed welfare payments to the indigent. Prop R, a losing measure in the last election, would have displaced renters to condo conversion. The underlying intent of those measures' proponents is to evict low- to middle-income voters from the city electoral pools and make SF a wealthy enclave.

If the initiative makes the ballot, the city's super-wealthy will take the offensive. When I asked suit-and-tie types to sign, they doubt the need to raise the minimum: some espouse Economics 101 lessons, citing how increases drive away business. Despite the talking points I'm supplied with ( a recent UC-Berkeley study figures operating costs increase less than 1 per cent), I can't seem to convince them. Minimum wage to these folks are what their high school kids make folding jeans at the Gap. They're not likely to know anybody struggling to feed, clothe and shelter themselves on a meager paycheck. Their bartenders, maybe…

When you consider that California politics increasingly caters to older, affluent and whiter voters, it's not hard to imagine it's not a lightning rod issue for them. From these smaller ponds, the Establishment hopes to elevate their own favorite sons who will follow their agendas. A more diverse constituency that includes working class folk, students, retirees, naturalized citizens and others only makes it harder. Is it any wonder why getting so many valid signatures that difficult?

.

by Joe B.

Near half century, two generations and a half lifetimes.

My pre birthday celebrations began in POOR Magazine’s Office where I work as Office Manager/Columnist, coffee and toast maker, trash man, photographer, rare reporter /interviewer, call/answer phones, whew; and transcriber of POOR’s new interns or people unseen with new, poems, or eyewitness true stories of lives lived between the margins.

Though it seems a lot at first its not all that difficult if one learns how to multi task taking frequent rest one can.

New and current interns on Thursday night bring sweets but not as pure honey and cream as their own strong and gentle personalities. (something’s in my eye and tears are removing it.)

I’ve noticed mostly women come to POOR there a few men to be sure but its mainly women who really are fearless and at the forefront defending, helping, nurturing we that are working poor, houseless, and mentally ill.

Is it their mental/physical/ psychological and social upbringing of our or other societies cause them to learn quicker, better internal survival mechanisms most men don’t have or do not to cultivate.

Maybe we men have less access to being open, risking ridicule, censure as women have and this has given them tremendous strength of will them in mores ways as men are only now widen their society and self imposed narrow limits of manhood.

All these women have taught the Warrior Goddess aspect of themselves.

At times I’ve fought back and even recently come to grips life choices even going far making a dear friend believe me no worthy what mindless babbling rants over trivial matters.

Hurting friends only rebounds double on the perpetrator.

I act like a dim bulb at times and again must apologize again to a most kind, caring, brave, daring, darling woman who had befriend me I’ve been a complete jerk many times and like the poem recently written in her honor "I always saw you."

If I am never forgive for being a fool well that is what the fool deserves.

That goes for everyone else. My road may have been rough but smooth compared to other lives.

When I was really young in Apple City, Harlem it was nothing for me to invent, create, and tell stories to children slightly younger than myself and I was 5 or 6 at the time.

That was my true nature laughing, nurturing, spontaneous, loving, hugging, and kissing without fear or dread of being called anything but spirited, energetic, or gregarious.

Between Lisa, Dee, Mari, Ashley, Alex, Lori, Christina, Isabel (you’ll always be my first muse).

the other is pretty and physically alluring but she’s a colorful though pale imitation compared to you.

Many more women not mentioned also helped me but cannot remember or write them all down.

So the other date web sites on line I’ve checked and to these women I also thank here are some by nicknames.

To ladybug, ginger-71, and all the rest who have answered online to me without a photo.

For a fair woman in Ghana, West Africa, special thanks to writing to me.

And as for everyone else reading I hope you’ve found humor, irony, sarcasm, intelligence, sensuality, sexuality, sexism, ageism, anger, joy, or any of the other emotions.

I was being me and like everyone we’re all multi faceted personalities.

I hope one day to write books, travel, marry, love a wife, children, grandchildren and either way to attempt a final victory.

To be placed immediately after death in a Cryo-coffin (essentially frozen after blood is removed from body, placed in then high tech icebox to be eventually revived, youth regained until fully alive and able to take up life anew.)

A far dream to be sure but I’m betting God or Goddess gave human’s free will, the capacity to free ourselves at least temporarily from the bonds of illness and death.

Anyone have tips on where or how to join Cryonics and Immoralist organizations? Bye…

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For Joe only my snail mail:

Email: askjoe@poormagazine.org

by Joe B.

I’ve thought of my eventual demise and how to face it.

As a confirmed believer in both a deity, applied science and the human spirit not only dying came into mind but incredibly a possible return from the gray abyss of death.

Cryobiology: the study of extreme cold on living organisms.

My interest is Cryonics or freezing of the human body for revival in the not to distant future.

You’ve read science or speculative fiction about men, women through accident of nature or technological mishap are awakened hundreds or thousands of years in the future.

Woody Allan’s "Sleeper" movie comes to mind or the late Gene Roddenberry’s Andromeda’s Captain
Dillin Hunt, trapped three centuries near or inside an event horizon’s black hole, or Old Buck Rogers centuries
long frozen orbit, and "Earth, Final Conflict.

Remember Boone the main character who is wounded, place in a suspended solution then destroyed only to be recreated from bits of his left over d n a brought back literally from almost nothing by advanced Taelon nano technology but there was a catch in his recreation that Boone and earth freedom fighters are able to defeat.Check out show on The Sci Fi Channel.

Just a few fictional examples.

I think before I die I better buy an my own huge ice cube thurmus to encase my body in after death.

But also thinking, what will the future be like when all my immediate relatives, friends have died or are so old have forgotten me through time and living their own lives.

My idea, before dying to join a few clubs and organizations not too many but just enough so if and when I do reawaken from death to a renewed life some of those organizations still around would be a bridge from my dead past to a new living future.

I thought about the Odd Fellow’s but think I’m odd enough as is to join it would prove too true.

I’ll join that one if and when I survive my second shot at life.

A church, Asian Museum, two life extension organizations connected with cryonics of course and The Common Wealth Club of California.

The last one I chose because it is the one because the life extension might be there or not but Common Wealth is more a sure thing.

What really concerns me is a connection from one century to the next.

Human’s get old, forget, move, and die.

Some organizations, clubs, institutions, change or fade away.

But there always a few that will stand the test of time.

I believe Churches, Museum’s, and certain Clubs have stood the test through time and as if I somehow by God’s or Goddess’s will and human science enable me to return to life no worse for the trip but slightly improved.

I’d have to reapply to all the orgs I originally joined and in doing so having people who are both curious and cynically inclined help me on this new journey.

I certainly don’t want to be the first to be revived, too much notoriety, an occasional crazy, religious nut, or someone who really wants to kill me because I’ve disproved one of their most cherished beliefs; that when people die they don’t come back, cannot regain youth and vigor.

It seems whom ever is first to be revived will be either the most famous person alive or quickly assassinated before they can effect change.

The Internet is stuffed full of technologies, old and emerging new sciences, stories, columns and whatnot.

I never think my writing will mean anything unless everything is archived and obscure answers found here where you couldn’t find them anywhere else.

Well, I know what I’ll be doing after death (on ice until revival).

I’m betting we have brains evolved to use to improve are lot in life, live longer, better lives, and beat not only our genes but also improve them and in the process if not beat but delay death for a few hundred to thousands of years.

Sure, people are laughing but a few under it are themselves thinking "Is it possible, can this guy or girl do it, die, get frozen, and someday be revived with added benefits besides?

There’s only one way to find out and that’s I’ll do in years to come.

I may not make lots of money, or be famous but I do have shot at a second life and if being anonymous is part of it so be it.

Some people join the military, become daredevils, ski, snowboard on ice, skydive out of a plane from 10,000 feet in the deep blue. People snorkel or wear scuba gear or
selfcontained
underwaterbreathingapparatus.

Everyone has ideas on life and death mines is just another opinion but knowing myself, living through these times I cannot go to ground and rot but see if there is an alternative way.

That’s just me people have always said I’ve been a strange duck. Maybe that’s my saving grace.

Bye, or until I do the death freeze a long time from now.


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1448 Pine Street #205

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Email:
askjoe@poormagazine.org

by Joe B.

Disclaimer:The views here are by the author himself Not POOR Magazine.

If some of it offends readers send letters to Joseph Bolden /CO
askjoe@poor magazine.org

I thought I was done with the Cryonics (freeze after death stuff).

But it occurs to me having organizations to help me ease back into society after being revived after death is one way of coping another is gathering past memories.

This can be a combination of books, records, tapes, CD’s,(Compact Disks) video’s, dvd’s (Digital Video Disks)
old radio, TV, personalities and shows.

Its not living in the past but having things of the past from your era or era’s.

Of course some people with way to much money and nostalgic longings for the so called good old days can end up living in a Village, City, where time literally stops.

I don’t want that just to have memories of my personal time as I gradually learn how to live, work, and survive in my new future.

While dead then after my brain is being renewed, rewired like that film "Demolition Man" I’d like to have languages, updated applied sciences, art, mathematics, civilian and military knowledge of how to training and self protection that could be hardwired into "sleepers" as an added benefit.

Physical, mental, social living and writing in-field (outside of hospital/clinic facilities).

A test for being close and detachment will be when Sex Surrogate/Psychologists themselves or their assistants physically interact with patients most likely ready to rejoin the living.

For those not ready it may take longer to detach from their surrogates and if possible a surrogates truly loves his or her patient their jobs won’t be lost just docked a years pay and will be on indefinite leave pending outcome of inquiry.

Fame for the very first revived human being can be a traumatic ranging from world love, hate, indifference, to individuals fascination with making out with a formally dead person akin to Star F___ing.

This could be a similar form of F.F.F.Fornication with Formally Frozen

C.C.C.or Cadaver/Corpse Copulation.

More euphemism’s can and will be coined but imagine being the object of such intense lurid attentions from a few weeks to years because you literally embody people’s fear of sex and death?

The world will have changed in 60, 80, or a century and for any individual stepping back into life from death will be a challenge not only to themselves personally but to the world at large.

What happens if psychopaths, child molesters, or serial rapists or murder’s are brought back how will society deal with these looming issues?

I do not know the answers to these serious questions.

But I do know humanities longing for life extension and immortality won’t be stopped by politicians, corporate interests or religious organizations.

If I am the first eyewitness to this technological breakthroughs

I hope to be able to bare up to what happens if I am reanimated after what would to me seem a long sleep instead of real death.

Maybe someone else, a woman, child, handicapped person given new body, limbs, or anyone coming back from death could fare far better than I that would make everyone coming behind have a smoother way in their second life.

You already know my answer, death is part of life but death can be has been delayed, slowed, reversed, and some people have been brought back.

I’m itching to find out that between the deity, human, artificial intelligent guided technologies a way will be found to revive people not only back to life but also made younger, their biological/chronological clocks also rewound for better and longer lives.

In my humble way I hope to be one of many beneficiaries of the life extension emerging sciences.
Not to try is to give up and human’s rarely give up or give in.

I guess I’m part of 1 to 2% that never say die. Bye…

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by Lynda Carson

Berkeley's Suitcase Clinic was founded by undergraduate pre-med students from the UCB-UCSF Joint Medical
Program and the UCB School of Public Health in 1989, and according to it's mission statement it exists to
promote the health and overall well-being of homeless and low-income individuals. Most of their donations
come from fund raising, grant writing, and the City of Berkeley helps out with around $4000 annualy to help keep
their legal clinic operating.

Some of the much needed services being freely offered to the homeless are urgent care medical services,
social services, dental services, veterinary services, chiropractic care, optometric services and free eyeglasses,
acupuncture, food supplies, haircutting, foot washing and massage, legal services, meals, clothing and a
limited number of vouchers for hotels.

It's that little oasis of a crossroads where the young pre-med students and the local homeless population have a
chance to spend an evening together on a weekly basis, and for a brief moment the cultural barriers of American
life seem to momentarily disappear. This clinic helps to serve all of those involved no matter which side of the
human spectrum they may be coming from.

Rich or poor, young, old, or middle aged, the clinic itself serves the needs of those being served as well as
those offering their volunteer services as a means to share their humanity with one another.

For the weary eyed road traveler coming in from out of state or out of mind, nothing can compensate the
homeless wandering unfortunates who may have lost all of their possessions, jobs, friends or loved ones while
believing that they really have reached the end of the road.

A lonely road that finally leads them directly to the services of the Suitcase Clinic in Berkeley for a Monday or
Tuesday night if they happen to enjoy playing basketball, or just want to watch tv, need a chiropractor, or are up to
having a foot massage and footwash, haircut, need a legal clinic, or the services of an optometrist. Any, or all of
the above and other services are provided at no cost to the clients that show up at the various clinics.

Affectionately known as "The Clinic" by it's student volunteers and the homeless who spend an evening together
on a weekly basis to interact with one another, it is a happening all unto itself as a case-working model that is
quickly spreading to other university towns across the nation.

So many of you are out there who can really grasp what it's like to reside at locations without running water,
electricity, environmental controls, or a place to dump a load on a cold lonely night while you stare up at the stars
until your mind wanders off into a restless slumber.

Others know what it's like to be lonely on a cold winter night sitting alone in their truck or car all night long
listening to the pitter patter of the rain drops hitting the roof above until dawn and beyond. That is of course, if you
are lucky enough to even have a vehicle to protect yourself from the storm or other hazards of life lurking about on
a dark cold lonely night.

You are or may have been known as part the homeless collective, and you know what the challenges are that
you face on a daily basis in order to survive or maintain some semblance of dignity and humanity. It's the little
things in life that count.

You may be down on your luck, and you may be down to your last quarter as your mind maps out a survival
routine for the day to get you from here till tomorrow without landing at Santa Rita Jail for some trumped up
charge meant to enrich the fatcats feeding off of the criminal un-justice system.

But, you made it through for another week, and your ready to enter this oasis of compassion to join the human
race for that magical evening to fulfill your human needs so that you can keep on trucking just a little bit longer.
Maybe for just another week, until the clinic doors open up again for all of our brothers and sisters, as they are
lovingly embraced by the Suitcase Clinic.

The Tuesday Night General Clinic

Julia Wildwood an attractive homeless woman from Seattle who needs glasses has good vision, but, needs
reading glasses, and showed up for an evening at the clinic on July 15, 2003. Julia was pleasantly surprised
that her input for this story was requested and offered her consent the moment she heard that it was for Street
Spirit. I love that paper, Julia said, as she quietly sat at a table taking an eye exam being offered for free by one of
the volunteers in the general clinic at the First Presbyterian Church located at 2407 Dana Street, in Berkeley.

Wearing a lovely purple top with a tan colored vest and black pants, Julia looked stylish in her own way as she
described how the clinic has been helping her out as of late. Not only has Julia sought the optometric services
the clinic offers, but, attorney Osha Neumann has been her guardian angel lately to defend her from the Berkeley
cops who have arrested her for sleeping upon the steps of Berkeley City Hall.

I landed at Santa Rita for sleeping outside, but, was never charged, said Julia. The Berkeley cops arrest people
and lock them up as punishment without ever charging them for an offense, and it appears to be a big racket to
make alot of money for all of those involved in the criminalization of the poor, said Julia.

I spent 30 hours at Santa Rita for sleeping on the steps of City Hall, said Julia in exasperation, and it was all for
nothing, and just aint fair. The Suitcase Clinic is a safe haven for me to go to for services that I no longer can
afford, said Julia.

Thanks to the clinic, Osha Neumann joined me in court to defend myself after I landed in Santa Rita Jail from the
sleeping offense, said Julia, and when we went to court for the hearing it became apparent that the cop who
arrested me never bothered to show up to press for charges or for a prosecution. This all smacks of a hustle on
the poor, and people like me get locked up for no good reason other than to provide the corrupt system with
fresh new victims, said Julia.

While being tested for the eye exam by a woman I will call Anon because she wants to remain anonymous, Julia
states that she last had an eye exam back in Seattle during 1991 while her job was to work with homeless
people in that part of the country. I am long over due for an eye exam, said Julia.

Julia made it through the eye exam and lottery process to get some new eyeglasses, and is luckier than the
fellow I observed who tried to sneak his way through the process. He was told to come back and try it again next
week, and being a gentle natured type of guy he wandered off without a fuss to another section of the clinic
before heading back out upon the streets.

Meanwhile, Julia was given a time and date for an appointment at the University Eye Center located on the
Berkeley Campus in Minor Hall, and she left with some documentation from the Suitcase Clinic plus a map and
appointment schedule to bring along with her to the University Eye Center.

According to Christopher (Toff) Peabody a volunteer coordinator at the clinic along with Lauren Wu; the clinic
pays for the glasses and the business donates the time for the eye examinations, Toff said. The lenses for the
glasses are the most expensive item the clinic has to deal with during it's annual budget, said Toff.

Toff had that look of serenity and sure footedness about him as he kept a keen eye on the proceedings at the
clinic, while he gracefully helped the volunteers to maintain a process that allowed the clinic to function at a
smooth operating level. If a crisis arose while I was there to observe the clinic in motion, I certainly could not spot
it, and it all seemed so casual.

After four years at the clinic, Toff has the experience to keep the clinic running smoothly without making it look
like he was over exerting himself or acting like a big shot to control every movement of the volunteers or clients. A
whisper here and a whisper there among his staff/volunteers, and people were moving about in a friendly
manner to where they were needed to offer the services being sought by the homeless.

According to Toff, on any given Tuesday evening at the general clinic, the 1 chiropractor may see at least 12-13
clients a night, the hair stylists may have 10-15 clients a night, the legal clinic see's at least 3-10 clients per
night, and at least 4 clients were with the optometrist's during my brief visit with them if that's any indication of
normalcy at the clinic.

We have 1 chiropracter a night and 4-5 vollunteers on a rotating basis with two that are female, and there is
normally about 10 optometrist appointments a night, said Toff.

Students also run a class sponsored by Health and Medical Sciences, so we are responsible for the training as
well, which is also part of the magic of clinic, said Toff.

Lester of Lousiana, is a homeless fellow that has been a client at the general clinic for the past 13 years and
states that everyone should have a home to live in. Lester was having a footwash when I met him at the clinic,
and he says that out of all the services they offer at the clinic that this is his favorite. To me this is a social visit to
see my friends and a chance to have a good foot massage at the same time, Lester said.

On average, theres around 4-6 foot washers per night at the clinic to serve around 16 clients each evening, and it
takes around 10 minutes to offer someone a good foot wash and massage says, Jenifer Stitchman of
Washington State. Erica, Bernard, Kripa, and Andrew also had their hands full washing peoples feet while other
clients patiently waited their turn for what many claim to be the favored service offered at clinic.

Being one out of 5 footwashers in motion this evening to gently rub the kinks out of peoples tired and tender feet,
Jenifer stated that we do this out of our love for humanity. I am a volunteer here 3-4 nights a month, and it's our
way to express our love of humanity in a safe way while interacting with others that may be feeling abused by a
society that treats them like criminals just because they are poor or homeless, said Jenifer.

An ancient tradition, footwashing was also popular among the followers of Christ as a means to express their
love of humanity and fellow human beings back during the so-called biblical times in the far east and elsewhere.

According to Toff, the staff and volunteers get their training from the Health and Medical Sciences Department at
the University before joining the Suitcase Clinic. I counted at least 23 volunteers and staff at the debriefing
meeting after the clinic closed down for the evening on July 15, 2003, and they all sat in a circle to discuss what
they had experienced that evening in the clinic. In addition, it looked like at least nearly 50-70 clients that showed
up earlier for the clinic services and this was a quiet evening compared to other nights, said Toff.

Theres plenty of volunteers said Toff, and the students and church donate everything here that you see to make
this all happen. The 13 year old clinic is a model used in other university towns and is spreading across the
nation to break the barriers that have criminalized the poor and homeless, said Toff. Most of the student
volunteers have not been homeless, but, this does not mean that we cannot relate to the social and medical
needs of the homeless community, said Toff.

The medical students of UC Berkeley years ago realized the need to help offer services to the poor, and with the
support of U.C. Professor Allen Steinbach, they first opened their doors to the poor back in 1989. We now proudly
have attorney Tirien Steinbach from the East Bay Community Law Center to help run the Legal Clinic who is the
daughter of Allen Steinbach, Toff says, and with Osha Neumann and Tirien Steinbach to run the legal clinic, we
have been able to help out many homeless people having legal problems.

According to Toff, the clinic is a case-working model which appeals to student learning to treat the whole person
rather than just a single illness. The clinic is also a social experience with boundaries, said Toff, and it's a way
for everyone to be a part of something that breaks down all class and cultural barriers while serving the needs of
the community at large.

The Suitcase Clinic is presently divided up into 3 different locations. The General Clinic, the Womens Clinic, and
the Youth Clinic, with each having similiar mission goals to reach out to the various members of the community.

The Monday Night Womens Clinic

Jen Troia of Maryland works with the Eastbay Community Law Center and as a volunteer helps to operate the
Suitcase Legal Clinic at the Dwight Womens Shelter on Monday evenings. With 2 advocates and one attorney
they serve at least 4 to 8 women per evening at the Womens Shelter. Having two years of law school already
behind her, part of her internship is being accomplished by working with the clinic for 2 hours per week on a
weekly basis plus a followup on the cases she works on, said Jen.

I love this job because I feel like I'm helping people, and someday I would like to do civil rights work, said Jen
Troia.

Being an extension of the General Clinic, the Womens Clinic operates on Monday nights from 7:30 - 9:30 p.m., in
Berkeley at the Dwight Womens Shelter as a working model with the same mission and goals as the Suitcase
General Clinic.

The Monday Night Youth Clinic

The Youth Clinic run by Ryan Houk is also known by some as the Punk Music Clinic and is open from 6-9 p.m.,
on Monday evenings at St. Marks Church in Berkeley. It may seem to be loud and chaotic to the casual observer
listening to the music and video games blasting away, but, behind the scenes it is actualy very well organized
with a doctor in one corner, an accupuncturist occupying a different corner and in yet another corner of the room
a veterinarian has set up shop to help out those that bring in their pets from off of the streets. The youth help out
to cook the food for that evenings dinner, help to do the foot washing and even produce their own magazine
known as The Zine. It took alot of work to gain the trust of the youth, Toff said.

SHARE-Searching How to Achieve Respect & Empowerment

Share is basically a focus group of people who get together at the General Clinic on Tuesday evenings from
7:30-9 p.m., to brainstorm ideas and the issues of the day faced by the clinic, it's volunteers and clients. Some
believe that SHARE is the heart and soul of the Suitcase Clinic. The idea for the legal clinic came out of SHARE
when it became obvious to the volunteers that homeless people have many legal problems so-called normal
public defenders do not have the time or funding to resolve. Many other great ideas for the clinic came out of
SHARE, and they wish to stay focused on civil rights issues.

At the end of each clinic session Toff, Lauren, Jen, or Ryan along with the other volunteers sit down for a final 15
minute debreifing before heading home, as a means to check in for the evening with one another and to discuss
security issues or any other issues that may arise during the course of the clinic sessions. On any given evening
there may be as many as 20-25 volunteers showing up to assist at the General Clinic, and it really helps to
process what they experience each session, said Toff.

Christopher (Toff) Peabody who has been very gracious in sharing his experience with me about the clinic
emphaticaly states that the biggest problem that the homeless face on a daily basis is the lack of low-income or
affordable housing. No matter what we can do to help out the homeless, it is clear that they all need some kind
of housing, and this is the only place around that the homeless can drop in on where people are ready to ask
them; how are you doing?, said Toff.

Special thanks to Toff for helping to bring this story alive. Toff mentioned that Lauren Wu has been doing some
amazing work at the clinic along with all of the rest of the volunteers who give up a few nights a month to spend
some time with the homeless population.

For more information about the Suitcase Clinic, call; 510/643-6786

by Joe B.

In San Francisco Examiner, front page bold print.

Why are they killed? This is about gay’s murdered in the City.

There is a simple yet complex answer.

Gay people are killed because a segment of our population have psychological problems with their own sexuality.

It might be the old projection on to the victim.

Rainbow, mixed raced folks still go through this negative process of blame-the-victim for the perpetrators own hang-ups.

Also some males, females are so mentally sick they drive are use bus, or trains to get over to vent their rage.

I reminds of me excuse the expression "Coon Hunting in the South" a popular sport where whites sometimes arbitrary or for legitimate reasons go after individual blacks usually males to taunt, scare him for fun at times they’d go to far and cruel, torture, and death occurs.

Many rainbow people of all colors died in this human hunting because the laws of the land protect the hunter not the hunted.

Is it possible the same also happens in San Francisco?

In both scenario’s men, women, youths, children, are killed for what they are and cannot change in this case sexual orientation or "S/0."

As for the serial killers, home grown pathologically minded above and the main headline like anywhere besides the Deep South, Midwest, North, and East it was a tacit understanding that certain people have no rights and there by anything can be done to them without penalty or punishment.

These killing seems to be "spree or opportunity slaying with only a few planned out.

Still to kill anyone because of their real or perceived S/O’s shows mental sickness.

What scares me most is as the slayings continue they become a macabre masquerade as normalcy. Remember
A.I.D.S.? [Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome]
is still with us as deadly as ever though H. I. V. or
[Human Immuno deficiency Virus].
does not automatically means death sentence for those with the virus inside them.

It looks like whatever gender orientation one goes by we must make sure relatives, friends, lover’s can be safe from these sick killer’s "going off" when they have a need to do so called "cleansing"; I don’t seen any other people of different S/O going off killing heterosexuals.

Oh, I forgot we so called "normal" straight folks do that job too. I’ve only been to a few gay bars, 1 lesbian bar and they both are more non threatening to me, it’s the straight bar with to much pent up testosterone that bothers me.

Being a hopelessly hetero black guy in San Francisco is problem enough I have my own issues with people wanting to kill me for being straight, liking, dating, dominant culture woman[Caucasian].

I’ve got a sinking feeling these are the same kind of people going after gay people.

It seems the only language they understand is violence done to them.

I don’t advocate violence but as Malcolm X said "If they lay a hand on me/you do your best to put them in their grave so they can never harm anyone else again."

Police, bystanders may not respond fast enough it might be up those being attacked to defend themselves either with self defense, pepper spray, gun, or anything handy.

Until being different is no longer a big deal my suggestion to those being attacked for no other reason than what’s in the attacker’s own demented brain.

Travel in groups [too bad women still must do this because of a few mush minded fools make it impossible for them to enjoy a night out by themselves.]

Since they (women, gay’s) cannot tell who they can trust they must take the above cautions until society grows the hell up and figures what people are and their sexual orientation is no ones business but their own.

I’ll probably get hate mail email from what I written which is also an oxymoron because if these hate something so much why not move, make love to a mate, fine and date a mate, instead of wasting time writing to me or worse going out and killing innocent people because they have problems with in themselves.

If readers have any thing offer you know where to write me… Bye…

Donations C/0 Poor Magazine

1448 Pine Street #205

San Francisco, CA 94103

Email: askjoe@poormagazine.org

by Joe B.

My topic was to be about the perfect man and how women day dream of having one or a few in their lives.

With a hypothetical (for now)immortal male or lucky mortal male growing up with the correct lessons too can be some blessed woman’s perfect man.

But that’s for another time today on Friday the 13th I have an urgent message for all readers and tech-heads.

’Ya know about servers, those machines that keep PC’s running and programs from getting scrambled by minor human error glitches.

We at POOR Magazine have a server only its way in ‘Freakin Washington D.C.!

When glitches happen here or over there it takes hours and days getting answers by phone then getting a programmer to fix the system which may take more hours because of backtracking a problem or two from its origin.

Folks, we need a sever. Me, I’d like to be state-of-the-art as can be barring that it can be second hand as long as it works.

We may need 2 or 3 or more of them because constant
mechanical ticks, program upgrades, and electromagnetic flare ups from our mutual star that at times acts up so we know not to ignore old shiny.

We need video camera’s – persons willing to record monthly our community newsroom meeting(which can be comedy relief at times).

Streaming Video to Broadcast PNN Newsroom at POOR Magazine/PNN [POOR NEWS NETWORK].

A radical Community-Based News making process focused or issues of poverty, race, sex, age, and all the other "ism’s all Poor folks constantly battle, suffer through.

Readers, Tech folks, anyone with spare servers lying around collecting dust that works but haven’t been hooked up because they may still be in their box or packed in foam padding and plastic; please send it or ask us to carry it over.
[we’ll use carts, wheel ‘em over, getting ‘em up a flight of stairs will be a chore.

Joe needs some exercise."

"Thanks for ‘nothin Tiny." Anyway that’s it and as always
donations would also be greatly appreciated.

Donations C/0 Poor Magazine
1448 Pine Street #205


San Francisco, CA 94103

Email:
askjoe@poormagazine.org

by Joe B.

Hard to get out of one’s own way difficult, frustrating, and futile if you are to close to notice you are your own enemy.

Last Saturday I’m in a Filmore festival in the.

I was told about it and decided to check it out.

After three serving of lunch in St. Anthony’s.

Its before Oakland’s Juneteenth on the 17th.

The 38 Geary bus took me there in no time though it is less crowded.

It’s a sun gorgeous day full of lovely women young, old, and mature of various ages and a men which I don’t notice since men don’t turn me on.

After circling the area, listening to both Rap and Jazz enjoying exposed cleavage and backs of ladies.

There are books, video’s, clothes, people selling their wares, and all kinds of olfactory seductive foods.

Succumbing to wafting cooking odors I buy a peach cobbler for $4.50 taking a Geary bus home placing still warm food in my mini fridge.

At home doodling, reading and old Toffler book I came across a paper on cryonics, a sub-science of Cryogenics involving the use of very low temperatures.

It gets me thinking of The Flood Building that has a Cryonics address there.

I go inside, sign my name, time, and take the elevator up.

Frosted glass, polished wooden doors, and wall-to-floor white-gray marble made place quiet and creepy like walking in a mausoleum.

I find the number but no words.

Using the stairs is quicker. The guard explains how new clients moved in and some haven’t stenciled in their names on the doors.

Recently I’ve joined a church, museum, and thinking of being a Common Wealth Club member as well.

I figure between those and Life Extension, Elimination-Of-Death, Anti Aging Association, and Immortalist Organizations would encompass spiritual, cultural, social-intellectual and possibly after death revival.

The last ones are organizations I’m almost too late for.

Its said humanity has free will.

Ultimately how long we chose to live should be up to us and not to Governments,

Quasi religious oligarchies or false dynastic empire something like father and son Presidents with deeply held religious bent.

A Bush bioethicist Leon Kass wants an end to life extension efforts, he too has his reasons too.

From a column originally written Tues. Dec. 2, 2002.
[Killing Immortality by Simon Smith/Forward Thinking – www. Better Humans.com].

I read some of Mr. Simon’s column feeling slightly ill this Kass is a dangerous individual because being part of Selected President Bush’s Council on Bioethics with similar
if not exact religious views on the subject.

Remember President of the 1980’s 10 year ban on Bio technology and what has happened to him now?

Well I don’t like this Mr. Kass holding up life saving technologies because he has problems with how far it will go.

Hasn’t he heard of space habitats, platforms, asteroids and that we have the technology to train people and since age really isn’t a factor as 70 year Senator John Glen proved to the world.

We’ve had people wanting to (for our own good) protect us from ourselves.

Radiation from nuclear fallout, disease epidemics, sociopath, psychopathic, child molesters, rapists, murderer’s by law is vastly different from keeping is one thing.

On the other hand folks saving their own or loved ones from needless suffering and deaths is different.

Two oil men and a bio ethicist with similar view both slowing up new technologies have enough money for dead Dino flesh but want to ring every last drop while at the same time keeps converging life extension science under wraps.

Maybe I’m wrong I hope I am.

A revolution is brewing, bubbling, for all of and our choices in how long we live is in a the balance.

We may need all life revival, anti aging doctors and other organizations to form new political parties because the main two or a few alternative here now isn’t seeing the new paradigm.

It seems the only way to shake the country of its death culture is to prove there is an alternative to death to delay, slow, retard, reverse, and otherwise stop Grim in his/her tracks.

The renegade want not only to live as long as they wish but have others do the same and it will be a global battle.

It just may be the last most silent battle humanity ever has and its not about race, sex, age, religion, its about the ultimate battle for life itself.

Everyone alive now, in the near or far future may not have a choice if our generation and others near us don’t fight for our own longer, healthier, lives.

Life, Illness, sickness, disease, or Extended, prolonged life span is fleet as Mercury’s winged feet.

It is easy to let our lives slip away but much harder to stay alive, see what the future holds and keep fighting.

I know what I’ll be doing.

What will be your choice? Bye…

Donations C/0 Poor Magazine


1448 Pine Street #205

San Francisco, CA 94103

Email: askjoe@poormagazine.org

by Joe B.

Today is a special day, my first, love, argument, kiss, slap, joy, fun, hurt, painful truths.

My Mother’s birthday is today she remains 21+ that’s all I’ll ever know.

Its said she was born with a veil over face especially her eyes which meant to many second sight. Years later she proved it true and maybe her first and second son also might have the gift passed on genetically.

She had two miscarriages both males before having me and Solomon.

Married twice, Graduating from Nursing school as a full fledged Registered Nurse.

Some trouble happens in New York, between catching me throwing dice, learning to play craps near my apartment, and my father veiled threat to take us away made Mom move us 3,100 miles to California.

For years I was angry at her for that but over time when both my father and step father didn’t call or visit.

For me the complexity and inexplicable vagaries of life and I no longer blame anyone because they did what had to all of them loved us enough for that.

My younger smarter brother follows my footsteps into the medical field becoming a cell researcher while I let my C.N.A./H.H.A, Dietary Aide [Certified Nurse Assistant, Home Health Aide].

Before those jobs my work was as a custodian, food service assistance or cooks helper, Local 6 Warehouse Worker, Security Guard, Library Aide, and Lab Aide.

I should’ve directed my scientific bent to be a lab technician or pharmacist since I loved looking at diseased ridden test tube’s, having them sterilized for reuse.

Dates, mistakes, hitchhiking across the country, working with a kind family, visiting mama but not staying because there’s lingering anger, and finally returned to the bay area.

Early displays of that veil power came to me when I said "I don’t trust that man, and don’t put your house up as collateral."

As with most person with psychically inclined they can see other people’s problems but not their own. Both my brother and me are correct about the new boyfriend whether it was colored by our mother being with men other than our father I don’t know but we both had an inkling this jack-of-all-trades-master-of-some we didn’t trust the guy at all.

In 1979 my mother lost her house due to bad business decisions. It’s the first I ever saw this strong, intelligent, psychic woman falter, breakdown and weep.

All I could say is "The I . R. S. owns our home. She wanted to burn it down too but it is decided instead to take every light bulb from every socket along with everything else and move to San Leandro or Hayward.

My brother was away in his own apartment, I worked all over in and out of the bay area like a displaced Gypsy.

Mother, in her wisdom and strength gather what monies she had saved and decides to take a trip to Mexico.

By that time I’m homeless I left Oakland became homeless in San Francisco my mind in a constant fog, writing short stories losing ‘em, moving from place to place living on G.A. [General Assistance] looking, finding short term jobs until I’m able to get into case management to safe money for an S.R.O.(Single Room Occupancy).

My Mother’s resilient made me do better and as for women they’ve always been a problem and mystery but always helping with a word, physical, mental comfort, and kindness.

Happy Birthday Mother for everything you’ve taught me through example, and when you thought I was not listening.

I still need to get her a nice home where her dogs can run free in a large backyard. [Someone else will clean dog mess from the yard not me].

Well, this is my personal salute to my mother and I going to give to her this day on her birthday since my money is funny for now and between my girlfriend and mom today is my mom’s day; so I miss some bed time I don’t get a lot as it is anyway that’s why I’m on a few date-for-sex-sites not (sorry mama) but you raised me and my brother very well. Remember, you said "If I ever EVEN think you’re take drugs I’ll set you up to be in jail.

"Well, mom both your son’s don’t do any drugs unless its medical and we have the flu.

Thank You for your touch, eternal love.

Like my brother I want to be married someday too if I find my perfect or near match it’d be wonderful for the so called near end of my life.

Happy Birthday Mommy.
From your eldest son Joseph O. Bolden.

Donations C/0 Poor Magazine
1448 Pine Street #205

San Francisco, CA 94103

Email: askjoe@poormagazine.org

by Jeff/PNN's Southern Ohio Correspondent

I grew up in what is actually the Appalachian region of southern Ohio. There really wasn't much work, so my father could only get part time work as a hired hand on a farm and wasn't always around and mom couldn't have worked if she wanted to because there wasn't any transportation or healthcare accessible.

That’s the thing about being out in the country, there isn't any easy access to healthcare unless you have the money for a car or gas which she had neither.

I had one brother a few years older than myself, we lived in a small older house. It's the kind of house many parents wouldn't want their children staying over for the night. The paint had faded and it had an old leaky roof that had caused the plaster to begin to fall and stained the walls. I wasn't the only kid in the region that was poor, but we had it rougher than most kids I guess.

When kids are young they really don't always know what being poor is all about. As you grow older there is more difference between the haves and the
have-nots, especially by the time we went to junior high, kids seem to divide up into different socio-economic groups when they hang out.

I was
probably considered white-trash, there was no reason for any of the other kids to spend alot of time with me and all of the guys I hung out with were poor also.

It didn't bother me as much when I was young but all of our clothes were handed down. I remember especially when I started to really grow always having to
wear jeans that when I sat down were half way up to my knees. Me and my brother only had one pair of jeans that mom called school-clothes. She washed all
of our clothes out by hand and they had to hang out to dry and there were times when me and my brother had no choice but stay around the house
wearing just underpants, which was common when we were younger playing around the yard but more of a problem as we were a little older.

I would sit in
the back of the classroom so other boys in class wouldn't notice that my jeans were too short or the fact I had outgrown my undershirt. That’s all we ever wore.
We never had any shirts like some of the rich kids had. After a while you learn to deal with it.

I remember one day walking behind some other boys
down the hall, they were talking about my brother, he was the one always getting into trouble, they said something about him being a redneck and the other
one said he didn't even have any school-clothes kind of with a sneer.

Class pictures were always kind of embarrassing too because most of the other kids
were always cleaned and dressed up, and there I was with long black hair wearing the same old scummy clothes that I wore everyday.

Other kids can be cruel.
One reason I am still poor today is because the school system doesn't cater to the poor kids, if you’re having trouble in school, they only work with families that have enough wealth to pay the taxes to support the schools. If you don't have access to wealth then you don't have a fair shot at accumulating wealth as you get older.

Day to day, life was difficult enough without worrying about homework and studying. It's not like we had
areas to study. Our bedroom was just two twin size mattresses on the floor and an old dresser which was never used much.

The problems of rural poverty in
parts of Kentucky, West Virginia, and Ohio are not always as apparent as what you may see in cities but in many ways more real than most people know.
I remember one Saturday morning I had been out early with Dad to pick up some junk and it was in March so it was wet and when I got home mom had to
wash out my jeans and some other stuff. So I was lying on the couch about 10:00 a.m. watching whatever was on T.V. . About that time a couple
of boys from school who were in my class came by unexpectantly with their father. They were on their way back from basketball practice and this one kid
Josh was apparently going to stay overnight at the other kids’ ,Scotts, house. Scotts dad wanted to see if my dad could either do something for him or find an old part or something so they came in for a little bit and of course Scotts dad had to visit for awhile in the kitchen and the boys came into the room where I was.

I
could tell from the beginning that Josh, especially, didn't want to be there and wasn't used to being around a house like ours where the wallpaper was peeling off the ceiling and the rug in the room was worn out.

Anyhow, Scott wanted me to go outside with him to look through some old bike parts that were out back by the shed. I
didn't know what to do when they walked in, I was lying there covered by a blanket wearing only a pair of underpants and I think they thought I was just
getting up and wasn't dressed yet. So I said yea in a little bit and I could tell this Josh kid whose father had a lot of money, I think he was a contractor or
something, would use any excuse to get Scott out of there. He wanted to go out and play football, I could tell. We were all in the seventh grade at the time.

Then Scott said, “why don’t you get something on and lets go”. I paused but figured it might be better to show them the room me and my brother slept in hoping that they wouldn't find out I couldn't go outside because the only pair of jeans that I had at all was wet hanging on the back porch where they came in. So I took them into the bedroom to the twin size mattresses on the floor the old dresser with a couple of the drawers pulled out.

I was the only one around, my brother had gone somewhere for a few days. My parents let him kind of run wild, I guess, and he was a few years older than me. Anyhow, Josh said,
“you guys just share this little room, there isn't even a door it just opens up to the hallway and then you just have to sleep on the floor.”

I could tell Scott wanted him to settle down a little bit and not say so much. Scott decided the best thing to do was get Josh outside but he didn’t want to leave without me.

“You know,” he said "get dressed, we don’t have all day, dad will be leaving soon and I want to look through those old motorcycle parts".

I said, “ I don’t know if there is anything in here to wear or not”

Scott said, “There must be something in the dresser” and then Josh started nosing through the open drawer.

I just sat down on the mattress looking up, there wasn’t much I could really say. The house was a mess, I knew all that and they weren't used to living the way we did. Josh said, “I bet there’s something in here someplace as he pulled out another drawer
which only had a few socks and briefs in it.”

Scott went on to say, “ You must have a pair of pants here someplace!”

I said mom just washed our clothes and Josh made a joke about the briefs hanging wet on the back porch. I told them that I may not have anything to put on. Josh went on to say “but theres only one pair of jeans hanging out on the porch, let’s go ask your mom where everything is at so we can get going.”

I finally said, “I cant, you guys go along I'll be out soon, my mom just washed my jeans and that’s all I got I think.”

Josh said, “that can’t be right you have something around here besides that pair .

I finally said, “mom never got us any other pair, that’s all I got and I outgrew all the others I had. I don’t have any clothes anyhow since we’re poor.” Scott acted kind of embarrassed about the situation and didn’t want to say much.

About that time I could hear Scotts Dad calling for him that it was time to get going. I didn’t know what to do, I walked out with them into kind of between the kitchen and living room door standing there as all of them stood in the kitchen for a bit while my dad and Scotts dad said good byes which took a while. I was glad they were leaving but wondered what they might say at school about my house. They knew I was poor, but the fact that I was, you know, fifteen years old, I had failed the sixth grade, and was held back just wearing nothing but a pair of underpants.