GUEST COLUMN – Surviving on the street in limbo from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m.

By LYNNE STONIER-NEWMAN
Guest Columnist

Lynne Stonier-Newman here, sharing the realities of three people I met last Wednesday. I’d nervously rolled into Gaglardi park on my walker, unsure whether it would be safe to stay.

A MAN GREETED ME from a bench near the entrance. “Hello, how are you? Isn’t it a grand day?”

He had a musical voice and a gentle smile. “I’m Pat, this is Connie and that’s Thomas on the grass.” She appeared middle aged, though younger than Pat, while Thomas was a good-looking man in his early thirties.

“Hi, I’m Lynne … and I made myself come for a walk to check out what’s in bloom here. This is my favourite park.”

“Come here often?” Thomas asked

“Last year I did, a couple of times a week … first trip this year.” And blurted, “Around my physical vulnerabilities, I’ve been hesitant because of the changes in our neighbourhood. Today, I gave myself a kick and decided I’d best learn to share. This is about as far as I can walk from our apartment and I like sitting here with the sound of the fountain.”

“Around how the park’s changed and you’re having to tolerate many more people?” Pat asked sagely and nodded toward three men across the fountain beside two heaped shopping carts. They were arguing noisily. “It’s hard for us, too. But there’s so few places we’re allowed to be between 8 a.m. and 8 p.m.”

I moved off the sidewalk toward the bench, noticing Thomas’ classy big black backpack and Pat’s duffel bag. “Do you overnight at the Stuart Wood Shelter? Oh … and is it okay if I ask you questions? I’m an author who has been considering doing a book about the realities of being homeless, a street person. ”

“Ask away,” Pat agreed and Thomas sat up upright, “For sure ask questions! Look at me, would you know I’m a red seal electrician?”

I must have looked as startled at I felt.

He shrugged and continued. “Graduated from North Kam in 2003, did the TRU Chef Program for three years, was diagnosed with Hodgkins disease – it took over a year before I was well enough to work. Decided to switch careers, then became an electrician. Always had stable, well-paying jobs and lived with my girlfriend in the Kootenays for many years. Nice home, two cars … until our relationship ended. I temporarily moved into a friend’s home, exchanging doing his electrical work for room and board,” he muttered, choked up and turned away.

“What happened?” I prompted softly.

“Home invasion. The owner was on someone’s hit list and when we were away for a couple of days, they ransacked the house and took all my stuff, too. My tools, work boots, clothes and personal belongings. I knew it wouldn’t be recovered and I had nothing left.”

“What did you do?”

“Came home to Rayleigh to visit, aware I would need my own place fast. Had money in the bank then … all gone now.” His eyes flashed and he gave a wry grin.

“Do you understand what finding a bed with a door is like in Kamloops? Impossible! There’s hardly any rental vacancies, especially with all the forest fires’ refugees here. I belong to the Electrical Workers Union but one needs an address, tools and safety boots to work.”

Thomas stopped talking and Pat filled the quiet. “Similar for me. A few years ago, I was a manager and builder in an Alberta fabricating shop but then my hip gave out … now I badly need two hip surgeries. Up until Covid, I picked up temporary well-paying jobs, managed, though nothing like when I’d full-time work. Things deteriorated fast with Covid and I sometimes ended up living on the street … I’m pretty capable, able to survive wintering outside to about 30 below. Came to Kamloops last November because I had a good job offer. It fell through.”

Connie nodded at the garden trowel between them on the bench. “Pat’s happy when he’s working, he’s been clearing weeds from these plants, keeps the park clean. He needs to keep moving as he can’t sit long.”

She teared up then, whispered after she’d wiped her nose, “I used to own a home, Lynne … This is my first time being homeless. Worked in a motel here until end of February but the ownership changed and I was tossed out.”

A bird flew by and we watched, listened to the fountain. “It must be tough to only have shelter between 8 a.m. and 8 p.m.,” I murmured. “May I ask how it works over at the Stuart Wood?”

“At 7 p.m., we gather in the ‘corral,’ a privacy chain link enclosure BC Housing ordered built up by the school’s front door. Guess it’s an attempt to soothe the unhappy neighbours,” Pat detailed drily.

“There’s always more people needing a bed than the 25 available and the overflow of 15 or so do get supper. We’re let in at 8:30 when we eat, take a shower, overnight in a cubicle without a door. Out of The Cold runs it as well as they can … great people, kind, astute.

‘It’s very crowded but there’s homey things, many photos and drawings, and the three staff are so caring, ” Connie interjected. “In the morning, we eat, help clean, then we’re back out on the street by 7:30 a.m. … Have to away from the shelter and area before the school buses arrive with the daycare kids.”

“Do you understand, know how few places we can go?’ Thomas asked me. “And how many security guards are being hired for private properties like Telus and WCB?”

He explained that those guards often break Canada’s bylaws for The Homeless’ Rights To Use Public Property. “They illegally chase us off the sidewalks, order us to ‘go away’ from all the public property near the private property they’re guarding. We’ve so few places where we’re allowed, we’re so unwanted!”

Their realities of their daily circumstances stunned me.

How would I survive for over 12 hours with nowhere to be?

“Aren’t there options provided for where you can go … places for the daytimes? Don’t they help you find temporary work?”

“Wouldn’t that be ideal?” Pat sighed. “No. Lots of planning being done but … Why aren’t we allowed to build even temporary shelters somewhere from scrap wood? We certainly could.”

“I think I’ve had 15 counsellors or coaches so far. No continuity, so much bureaucracy,” Thomas lamented. “Often I go to the WorkBC and use their computers to yet again fill in forms. Hasn’t helped me get back to work. And there’s much dumb stuff … like I would start work at 7:30 but the only place I could leave my belongings – I sure can’t take my backpack to work sites – doesn’t open until nine. And it’s the only safe storage available.”

“There are no programs for day time, no gathering places with facilities?” I asked again.

“Only storage areas for us because hanging out down on West Victoria Street is doing tough days. Do you understand that Kamloops is growing an Eastside there like Vancouver’s mess?” Pat pointed his chin at the three men now laughing loudly and spread on the grass across the fountain. “It’s complex because many can’t or won’t work. But the rest of us want work and … to have homes again!”

I told them about the “Dear Neighbour” letter Bri and I received in March, when Stuart Wood’s Emergency Winter Shelter turned into year-round overnight shelter. That letter had many signees, including the City of Kamloops, Tk’emlúps and BC Housing. It assured neighbours that planning and options for the peoples’ daytimes were underway. And that envelope also included a page of Kamloops’ Emergency Numbers for ‘we neighbours.’

The letter notified us – and pretended to be conferring with us – about those 25 shelter beds about to be open from 8 p.m. to 8 a.m. year-round. Sharing our individual reactions wasn’t feasible as less than a week later, BC Housing announced it was a done deal!

Now, 25 needy people have to leave those Dickens’-like overnight beds at the Stuart Wood Shelter early every morning. And they only have our neighbourhood streets and parks daily, “to hang out in” spending their days without the usual facilities and comforts a human being needs.

“What are your realities of having to do that?” I asked. “How do you survive between 8 a.m. to 8 p.m.?”

“It’s hard, very hard. But what are our options? We’re wasted people,” Pat said tersely. “All the money being spent to solve the homeless problem, how much of it is effective, humane?”

I nodded, then mentioned I needed to leave and Pat requested we talk again before he and Connie return to Calgary.

“Me, too,” Thomas said, and we agreed I could bring a tape recorder and we’d meet again the next day in the park.

“Before you go, Lynne, do you want to know what’s the very hardest thing for me is?” Thomas asked.

“Yes.”

“It’s my not having my own door where I can go in, shut it and be alone. Can you imagine how it feels to never be able to do that?”