By: Danielle K. Smith
Photo by: Dieter Spannknebel/Getty Images

Dizzy* wandered home to the New Haven Coliseum sometime last night around midnight, and he’s planning on doing exactly what he did yesterday. It’s 7:00 in the morning and this six-foot two man in his late twenties is waking up as usual amidst his makeshift bed of cardboard boxes and blankets, which I imagine cover very little of his lanky frame. He limps a bit, and favors one side of his body, probably a result of many nights of uncomfortable sleeping arrangements.

After clearing up his belongings and packing them into his backpack, he leaves the Coliseum and heads to Chapel Street to make his rounds visiting friends, mainly store owners and street vendors that he passes each day. It is now about 9:00 a.m. and several shops are beginning to open. He stops into Starbucks, drops in the newsstand, and Atticus Bookstore and Café. He’s in no rush. He’s not late for work – he lost his job three years ago. He lost his apartment shortly after and has been on the streets ever since. Dizzy is a member of New Haven’s growing homeless population.

Dizzy will continue making rounds, popping into shops, and chitchatting until the late afternoon. He’ll visit Yale’s Center for British Art at some point, as he does faithfully every day. An artist, Dizzy finds inspiration in frequenting galleries.

By 5:00 p.m., Dizzy has eaten very little all day, but he “doesn’t believe in hand-outs,” so he’ll make his way to the Soup Kitchen where he can eat a free dinner. Ironically enough, he’s probably bummed several cigarettes off passersby throughout the day because these are often too expensive to come by any other way. He’ll stop in at a friend’s house to check email. Other nights he makes his way to his mother’s house. He heads back to the New Haven Coliseum at 10:00 p.m. and sketches until he falls asleep on his makeshift bed.

I met Dizzy on my first visit to Harmony Place, a community center for homeless people in New Haven. Upon entering the large multi-purpose room for the first time, I felt like an intruder. There were people seated at various tables with games, newspapers, and Styrofoam cups with coffee, some mulling around, others just conversing as I scanned the room. Harmony Place is a safe place, designed to create the community that homeless people often lack not having an address to call home. After a few introductions, I gathered that some present were homeless New Haveners, others friends of Harmony Place regulars, and the rest Yale students and New Haven do-gooders of sorts.

Eager to speak with me, many at Harmony Place shared brief portions of their stories. One gentleman showed me a newspaper clipping on the wall. It was a picture of him and his wife at their wedding, which had been attended by several Harmony Place volunteers. He said that his commitment to Harmony Place was just one way of showing gratitude as one who had received his second chance in life through the support of networks such as this one.

When I saw Dizzy he was just sitting down with a cup of a coffee and his sketchpad. Dizzy mentioned right away that this particular night happened to be exactly one week from the date he had been released from a five-month stint in state prison, but he did not say much more about it. He was very happy to be back home.

We began talking about my article on homelessness and what “home” means. He explained the sudden change of his lifestyle and the very dramatic reactions of friends and family members who reacted first in denial, then pity, then frustration and rejection of him and his circumstances. Dizzy’s story stands out because he didn’t follow “usual” path to homelessness. Three years ago he was an employed bachelor. Educated in a private New England boarding school until the age of 16, where he overcame a speech disability, Dizzy is an accomplished local artist, and he doesn’t name substance dependency as his downfall from the “normal” life he enjoyed not so long ago. He insists that he doesn’t spend his day asking for money and handouts. He remembers many friends and family members asking, “What do you need to get back on your feet?” thinking that they could help him. He subscribes to the notion of self-help, and prefers to deal with his circumstances until he can pull himself back together, through selling his art or reacquiring stable employment.

I asked Dizzy what came to mind when he thought of home. He answered, “comfort and security.” I asked him where he remembered feeling at home. I anticipated that he would say his mother’s house or the apartment that he had lost not so long ago. He said neither of these things. To my surprise he reverted back to memories of boarding school as a child where he had older role models to look up to as he overcame a speech impediment. He mentioned that the physical place really didn’t matter to him, but that the people are what made a home. It’s not that he minds “the streets” per se, but he and several others cite violence in New Haven as the greatest daily concern for a homeless person, having no safe place to escape.

Dizzy does not represent the majority of homeless people that I spoke to, however. When asked what home meant to her, one woman responded, “It means, a home, a place to call home.” Place was important to her in a way that didn’t matter to Dizzy.

The streets are far more tolerable during the summer months when nights are not so hard to bear. One New Haven shelter employee noted that each week, 300 to 400 adult men and women are helped, beds fill up very quickly, and there is always a need for more resources. She finds that most people want a place to call home but there isn’t enough affordable housing and assistance for job placement.

“There are a lot of people who are on the streets and it is their own fault. They drank too much or they used all their money on drugs, and even now they waste every dime they get,” Dizzy commented. “But there are people who just fell on hard times and really need help.”

When asked which one of these describes him, he answered, “I fell on hard times, but I feel that it will be up to me to
get back on my feet. And I do want to.”

Although he remains hopeful, Dizzy has no promising job prospects. He continues to paint and sell his work for whatever he can get. Until he finds work, Dizzy will continue his daily routine on the streets of New Haven.

*Name changed

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This entry was posted on Wednesday, October 31st, 2007 at 2:58 am and is filed under Lifestyle. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.