Project Participants
Brian
"I was never homeless, really," says Brian, age 49, an Evanston resident who has lived in shelters, nursing homes, and housing arranged through agencies since he left prison in 1996. When he got out of prison, AA meetings and other support helped him in his struggle with drug addiction. In 2019 after several months in the shelter at Hilda's Place, he moved into his own apartment. During the Covid-19 pandemic Connections housed Brian in various Evanston hotels, such as the Margarita Inn, where he is today.
"Right after I got out of prison, I was really, really hooked on crack cocaine. I had to be in a special care place where they watched me 24 hours. But my mom loved me so much, she took care of me. She had unconditional love. She passed away in 2004 from cancer."
"I feel like I'm growing. I feel like I'm on the right track and I'm about to start really having a lot of things now. Then, I can start giving back. I want to open my own shelter for men and women. I want to open up a recovery building-big, something like the Holiday Inn."
"I want to have a clothing store. I want to design clothing. I want to be more respectful towards people and towards myself. I don't want to be selfish. I want these tattoos off me."
Rod
Rod, 59, grew up in Evanston. His struggles with mental health issues and drug addiction have contributed to his homelessness. After serving some time in jail, he spent 15 years in Elgin Mental Health Center. He has lived on the streets on and off for much of his life. He is currently housed in an subsidized apartment in Chicago.
"I got hit by a car when I was about five and a half and I was in a coma for three days. And I went up to heaven and saw Jesus and walked around. And then he didn't want
to take my life and he sent me back down. And says, 'I'm going to send you back down to serve mankind.' And that's what I've been doing ever since."
Daniel
Daniel, 49, grew up on the south side of Chicago. He's an athlete and played football and basketball. He worked at the YMCA, UPS, Shubert Theatre, Church's Chicken and many factories. Raised by a guardian, he never knew his parents. In 2019 he was living in Hilda's overnight shelter and in 2020 Catholic Charities helped Daniel find an apartment of his own.
"Yeah, tough neighborhood growing up. Saw all about cocaines and guns and stuff like that. There's always something happening every day. Yeah, there's a lot of stuff that's going on that you got worry about as you're growing up if you is going to be able to make it out here. A lot of people hangs out on corner each day. You got to walk right past that stuff."
"I was selling drugs growing up. I wasn't doing it. I was selling it. If they see you on that shit and then you selling that stuff, they'll rip you off real bad. You big and stupid. You got to be careful with merchandise like that. As I grew up out of it, it bought me this, it bought me that, stuff I would like to have. I like to wear $10,000 gym shoes and mean coats and mean jackets. The money I was getting from the streets was taking care of that lust I have for that stuff. Brand new stuff every day. It got me new gym shoes every week. Keeping up with Joneses. Wish you had a pair of Jordans."
"Yeah, I think of myself as homeless. But I think I can do better. I can do better than that. Once I find out where that apartment going, then I'll be straight. I don't know where I'm going place it at. I'm trying to find a nice neighborhood that's comfortable. That I can relax. I been homeless just for a good while, that's all. The worst thing of being homeless is not knowing no better. People usually take advantage of you when you don't know no better. Doing stuff you don't want to be doing and stuff like that. A lot of the stuff. I seen that happen to a lot of people.
I did the right things. Not like I messed up."
Christopher
Christopher, 38, grew up in Chicago with an alcoholic father and an enabling mother, who divorced when he was 5. His new stepfather was abusive and dealt enough drugs that their house was raided more than once and he went to jail a couple of times. Although Christopher was a smart kid who got straight A's in school, he became a gang banger and started dealing drugs himself. By 17, he was the father of an illegitimate daughter. Soon Christopher had discovered heroin. With Connections help, in June of 2021 he moved into an apartment of his own.
"Heroin is the devil. It is the worst. People talk about angels and God and this and that. You stick a needle in your arm, you are damned from life. I have no future whatsoever because of that f---ing needle. I wish more kids would listen. It's ruined everyone in my life. It took my family. I had a wife and a kid and I was young. Heroin ruined my life. I mean, it destroyed me completely."
"I did this to myself. I'm a f---ing bum, junkie, low life. I think I could have been anything. I was a smart kid, man. Real smart. I took the wrong path. I have good intentions, but bad ideas. I'm a decent human being. I'm not mean to people. I try to be courteous, kind, and treat people the way I expect to be treated. I want to be a normal human being with an apartment and a job and all that. The methadone, I want off too. I mean, I ruined myself. This is my fault. No one owes me anything."
"I don't have friends. I've burned every bridge I've ever had. I really don't have nowhere to stay. Where am I going to stay? I've lived under the Belmont underpass. I've swore I will never be homeless again so many times. It sucks being out there, I'll tell you that. Especially when it's cold. There's nothing worse. Holy smokes, sitting there freezing, walking around all day, it hurts. My feet are horrendous. Like everything hurts, man. The other night, I'm dying. I have frostbite on both of my toes, both of my toes right now."
"No one takes care of the homeless like Evanston. It's just the way it is. I mean, ever since the first time I was out here, they've been nothing but really nice for me. I want to have an apartment, I want to get off the street. I'd love to be clean, I'd love to talk to kids about getting off drugs and shit. That'd be really cool. That's definitely my ultimate goal."
Cornell & Christina
In 2020 Cornell and Kristia were expecting their second child but also living out of Cornell's car. Kristia has been on the streets since age 18, and has given up four children to adoption due to being homeless. Cornell grew up in Chicago's Roger's Park neighborhood and has been homeless on and off since 2008. In 2015 he received his commercial truck license but hasn't been able to work as much as he'd like.
Kristia: "I slept outside majority of the last 10 years, until I got with Cornell and then he tried to do what he could for us at the time, when he was going to school for his CDL trucking license. He would get us hotel rooms and stuff. But if not we slept in the car which was fine. It was better than sleeping outside. Especially being pregnant, sleeping in the car it's really hard cause I'm cramped up all the time. So I have a lot of pressure, that's pushing down, cause the baby's not being able to stretch out."
Cornell: "I done slept in Burger King. I done slept in the car I bought. Behind the alley, the dumpsters. People back porches late at night. Get up when I think they getting up for work. Clean up and take my stuff. Hide it like everybody else. Come to Connections, take a shower, get something to eat. And I just kept it peaceful like that. Honestly, I can't look negative because even though I've had to shuffle around, I feel like God is always got each of us individually to the safe zone. Just some people don't recognize when they blessed. I was always guided to where somebody would be willing to help me in particular."
Kristia: "It took me to get locked up to realize that my life was worth it, way more than what I was doing. Being homeless just isn't an option for me anymore. Running the streets and getting high is not an option for me anymore. Being a part of my kids lives is my option. Raising this child is my option. Do you know what I'm saying? Just trying to have the life that I never had growing up, as much as I wanted, and giving the life to my child that I never had. "
Cornell: "I think we're on the right path. I was always believe that the law of attraction gives you everything you want. Not when you think you deserve it, but when it's actually due to you. I see us in six months, I see me back in the truck. I see me having a roof over our head."
Kristia: "I call him my angel, because when I was on drugs real bad he would come find me and let me get some rest, and shower and stuff like that. What I liked about him is that he respected me. He never tried to approach me sexually, and that's what made me more attracted to him. I felt more protected being around him because he didn't let nothing happen to me. Probably one of the best things that's happened to me in my life, is him. I put him through a lot and he's still stuck with me. He emotionally supports me with my mental health and stuff like that. And it is real overwhelming being pregnant and homeless."
Javier
Javier, 33, was born in Michoacan, Mexico and came as an infant to Chicago with his mother. As a small boy, he remembers his family crossing the US-Mexico border through underground tunnels. "We went back and forth many times," he says. Javier's mother returned to Mexico when he was 18. As an undocumented adult, he has struggled with homelessness and depression.
"I've been homeless on and off since high school. When I had good jobs, I was able to get roommate situations. I've been all over the place. I've been in a lot of these buildings because I've had a lot of friends that helped me bounce back. I've even lived at Northwestern in some of the buildings, because I had friends who worked there that were teachers who would give me the pass. I've survived throughout the years with the grace of good people."
"I haven't seen my mom since I was 18. I've been wanting to see her for such a long time and I just want to go home, catch up with her and hang out. I miss my mother. I've dipped into alcohol a little bit because it was easier to cope with being out on the street. It's really difficult."
"I'm a good person, I have a good heart. I've just made some poor choices. After all the bad shit too, there's been a lot of cool things that have happened my way. Sometimes I look at myself and I'm in a cool place with cool people eating good food, and we're laughing and nothing exists besides the moment. I look forward to moments like that. That's what keeps me going. That's why I haven't 100% given up, because I still have some sort of optimism - like it can't be that bad always."
Janeen
Janeen, 45, grew up in Cleveland, Ohio. When she was 5 her parents separated. Her mother became addicted to pain pills, began to steal and spent the next few decades in and out of jail. Eight years ago, Janeen moved to Chicago and had difficulty maintaining stable employment and housing. Over the years, she has struggled with health issues that have limited her ability to work. She has stayed in rented apartments, hotels, AirBnb 's and shelters. During the Covid-19 pandemic, Connections housed her at the Margarita Inn. In 2021 Janeen moved into a place of her own and started work as a licensed health insurance agent.
"My father offered me twice to move in with him - when I was 12, and when I was 14. I said no. I didn't want to tick off my mother. I had two chances to live a decent life. I could have been married, kids, house, home, maybe divorced in my 40s, but still at least a better foundation."
"I started off staying with a friend, but then that friend moved and I had to go into the shelter system. My first rodeo, I call it. Usually you get somewhere between four, maybe six hours of sleep. Rarely eight full hours. Sometimes the guys are fighting. Sometimes the women with their arguing. I go to sleep stressed. Tune out the noises - the snoring and the fights and people playing music or watching movies. I don't get a normal night's sleep, and that takes away from my energy to look for the job. It takes a lot of energy to be in this situation. People just don't know. They have no idea."
"I have to carry enough to get me through two, three days. Any given day, I carry at least 25 pounds, just to get through my days. Up and down stairs, on and off buses. All day, every day. Sometimes I have to hide my bag when I go to an interview. Or going back and forth to storage to make sure I have fresh clean clothing."
"In and out of Airbnbs, in and out of hotels or motels. Sometimes I stayed in a police station up North in Chicago a couple of times. Many times I rode the bus. There's several buses in Chicago that runs 24/7 or I would go to a restaurant like a Dunkin Donuts open 24/7, pretend I'm studying when I'm really fake sleeping."
"There's something very real called the working poor. Not everyone is on drugs or abused or a felon. There's a population of us, myself included, that are sane, sober, clean, respectfully healthy, normal people. And there are not near enough resources for single able-bodied sane adults. I think that's unfair, because the assumption is, "Oh, since you're sane, you should be fine." No, we have to do it all by ourselves."
"I have keys around my neck because I found them, and they look pretty. Whose keys they are, I have no idea. I believe keys equate to access. It means access to something bigger, better out there in the world. I have a heart around my neck, which means love. Love is the highest emotion a person can feel. So I have love and access around my neck. So hopefully, I will receive more love, more access. That's why I expect that things will get better."
Joy
Joy, 29, grew up in Rogers Park and attended Malcolm X College in Chicago. She has worked as a pharmacist technician, as a model, and in retail. After losing her job at 7-Eleven in 2017, she fell behind on her rent and became homeless. Joy has a three-year-old son who lives with the extended family of her husband, who is incarcerated.
"My husband is locked up and I'm out here. I knew him since I was a teenager. Me and him both was homeless together for a year. In the summer of 2018, we started a little camping site. Me and him and his brother. We would wake up with each other, go out, live our days, and meet back up and go to sleep with each other. And then boom, he just vanishes and he's in jail. So now I'm married to an invisible man. Long story short, I can't wait until he comes home. It's just hard to be without him."
"I love being by myself. It's 30 times easier. Less responsibility, less stress. Silence is golden for me. The hardest thing about living in the street is dealing with other homeless people. I can deal with going to the overnight shelter, going to the different churches and getting something to eat. But what I cannot deal with is ignorance. I'm tired of the disrespect."
"I miss my baby. I see my son as much as I can, but due to the situation that I'm in, I don't see him as much as I want to see him. I would love to start over far, far away from here and not look back. The main thing that's keeping me in Evanston is to try and wait on my husband."
Carrie & Blake
Carrie, 41, and her son Blake, 11, were living with and caring for her dad in Morton Grove, Illinois until he passed away of colon cancer in 2017. She continued to live in the house but her family took steps to sell it out from under her. When Covid hit she was able to continue to stay there but due to the pandemic she lost her job. With Connections' help, they moved into the Margarita Inn in July of 2021.
"Total lack of support. Blake and I, we were staying in my place up until a few weeks ago, butI was evicted. With COVID first thing that went was my car. I couldn't afford that anymore. That was hard. And then after the car, it was like, well, rent not being paid. So, I mean, I didn't know what I was gonna do. I was in such denial for so long that I was, like, I didn't know what was going on. I still have all my things that I'm trying to get moved into a storage so I'm kind of like grieving the loss of maybe losing my whole life, all my things."
"I was talking to Maggie from Connections. She put me on a list of different things. She calls me and she's like, 'I have a spot open at our shelter.' I was thinking, when we have to leave during the day there's no way I can do that with Blake, no way. And she was like, but Carrie 'this is how it is.' I wasn't trying to be like snotty about it or anything, but I was really scared and in total denial of my situation. And so I was like, 'okay, wake up.' So I said okay, and then I was in two days later."
"There's so much deep rooted stuff for me with my family. I'm a survivor of sexual abuse, you know what I'm saying? My mother passed away when I was 23 in a car accident, six weeks before my wedding day. That was kinda what spiraled me out of control when I lost her. She was my rock and everything. And then after my mom passed away, I ended up becoming a drug addict."
"I've had a lot of hurt and a lot of pain. A lot of pain, you know? I think it all adds into who I am and why I'm here. You know, sometimes it's hard to have a lot of self-confidence or be real secure with yourself when you've had such painful things. So hopefully this is going to be the stepping stone to my new life. I feel grateful to be able to be here and grateful for, you know, being able to hopefully get housing and stuff like that. You know, I have some physical issues,health wise, some disability, so it's going to be a long process"
Jeffrey Ray
Jeffrey Ray grew up in Lincoln Park in a family of seven brothers and eight sisters. He first became homeless when his mother died and her three-flat was sold. Over the years he has worked as a paper boy, in a grocery store and repairing bikes among other things. Now 56, he still works stints at McCormick Place setting up and breaking down trade shows. He has spent many nights on the CTA and staying with family. He last had a place of his own 6 years ago.
"I'm on the street, but I have an option. I go to my aunt's, stay a month. I can go to my cousins, stay a couple weeks. I've got sisters. We're real close. I've been staying with my sister. She lives in Oak Park. I stayed with my other sister for a couple years, in Maywood. I've been bouncing around from house to house. I don't have to really sleep in a shelter, but I choose to do it. It's better for me because when you live in someone else's house, you have rules. Sometimes people get tired of you being there. I worry about people saying, 'Oh, he's in my house,' or, 'He's been here too long.' You got to understand, in a shelter you have to leave, but you are left alone. Some days I'll go two or three days by myself, and meditate and think."
"It's good to help people. It keeps you strong. It straightens you. When you are a good person, people can sense that and they'll follow you. Helping runs in the family. My sister is a case manager. She works with the Department of Human Services. She's a case manager that puts people on welfare, gets them food stamps. She told me, 'This is what you should do. You should be a counselor trying to help people. First, get out the place you are in, stop being stubborn, and you can help people, more.' She's telling the truth."
"The system does help people, so for someone to say it doesn't, they would be wrong. It helps people that wants to be helped. This is how the system works. If a person don't want to be helped, this is not the system for you. You're just wasting your time, and their time. But if you're serious, it's not just about laying there in the beds, going and sleeping, wake up in the morning. You should be motivated to get up, go look for a job, motivated to try to get housing, motivated to get yourself out this situation, into another situation."
"I don't worry about what will happen in 10 years. Whatever happen in 10 years, it happen. I don't like to dig into the future. You take one day at a time. One step at a time. You deal with life as it come. As I wake up, whatever comes before me, what presents its way to me. If I'm older and I'm still in the street, it's part of life. If I got a place, I would hang around. Why should an apartment change a person? I'd go to the apartment, stay there a day or two and then stay four days in the shelter. There's nothing hard about
me being on the street. It don't bother me. That's why I'm always in a good mood. It don't bother me. What does bother me is when I see people doing wrong things to other people."
Faye
Faye, 71, came to the Chicago area from Houston. "That's where my home is," she says of Texas, "but I came here to heal and to change my life and to help my family." With help from Connections, she found housing in 2019, but still faces challenges. When she lost her apartment and during the Covid-19 pandemic, Connections gave her housing in Evanston hotels. Faye has since moved back to Houston to be closer to her children.
"I went to Texas Southern University. My major was education. Now, I know that it don't matter if you have a degree. It's how you treat people and how you want to live. A degree don't mean nothing. It's how you help the other brother."
"Connections has really helped me; they've been really good to me. They show a lot of love. They show a lot of tough love. Regardless of what we go through, they love on us. They might not even like us, but they help us. They really do."
"The hardest part is making mistakes. Spending my money the first of the month and then not having enough to cover the next month's rent. I just bought a TV and I had to pawn it so I could get something to eat. I do get my clothes from Connections when I need them. But I be n eeding toiletries, because I've run out of money. I don't put a lot of food in the icebox, but I eat stuff like noodles, beans, peanut butter and jelly, SPAM."
"I want to leave my legacy. I'm strong, and I know it, but I get weak. I get scared, but I overcome it because I always talk to the Lord. I want to give up, but I ask God not to let me give up. I ask God not to remove this difficult situation until he is ready, but I'm tired. I'm ready to get my own apartment where my children can come or my grandkids can come. I'm going to keep pushing. I fall, and I get back up."
Sandra and Jesus
Sandra is a 43 year old Columbian who came to the United States in 2008 after her father was killed and her life was threatened. She has a 8 year old son, Jesus. Sandra has had multiple surgeries for reoccurring brain tumors. Side effects of her treatments have included debilitating double vision and loss of balance. Since the time of her arrival in the U.S., Sandra has struggled to find stable housing and for periods of time she has had to place Jesus in care with other people when she could not care for him herself. With help of Catholic Charities, she is currently in an good apartment in a safe neighborhood and Jesus is in school, but her health and immigration status remain unresolved.
"I was almost five years in shelters. I can't do it no more. It's really hard for me, with my vision and with Jesus. I'm not the kind of person to be in these places every day seven in the morning. I can't do that. I saw one man with two kids and they are really bad. They smoke weed and things like this. They don't care much about the life. I can't be with toxic people like that."
"I got a SNAP card, I got the Link card, and I got the food stamps. And some cash. I had a storage in Evanston, and I pay this storage and I pay my phone. That's how I use the cash.
I hope I get the housing so I can get my stuff with me and I can now start something. It's like a puzzle. How I going to put everything together? I was thinking to start with a stable place.
I have to keep going with Jesus. I try to get him out of this situation."
"It's so hard for me to trust on somebody. I speak with everyone but I'm not friend with nobody. Because you never know who's by you, and I'm worried if something happen. This neighborhood on the south side of Chicago is very bad. I hear shootings every night. I'm so scared to be here. I don't get out at all. Because I can't run and I'm scared. You can imagine being there every day, 24 hours."
"I was like, 'Jesus, you have to be ready for life.' And I told him already but I don't know if he process everything. He's so smart, and he's a leader. If you say things to him, sometimes he's like, "Don't lie to me." This is why, I have to be very careful when I say something. This is why I'm starting to cry now, because I can't do in front of Jesus. I can't. I have to show him
I'm strong."
"He's in Head Start. But I don't put him there because I don't have place that's stable. I can put him there to go to study but what are we going to do if we going to move to somewhere? Take him out, put him back? It's very hard for him. And his age is hard to let him be in different places. He's saying about other kids, "Can you talk them if they can be my friends?" He is all the time moving. So it breaks my heart every day."
"I don't feel better or less than nobody. But I'm a big survivor, big survivor. I know that. Every day I pray and say, 'God please help me. Show me the way.' Because I'm completely alone. Completely alone."
Grace
Grace, born in Belize, has lived in the Chicago area for 35 years. She has worked as a house cleaner and taking care of the sick and elderly, but became homeless after losing her job. Her children live in Utah. She has slept at O'Hare Airport.
"Well, sometimes I have nowhere to go and you know, so the best thing I just go to the airport and stay up there and sleep, the morning I travel around. I found out about the airport through a friend. He was homeless too, and he took me up there and said, 'You can sleep there overnight, and then get up in the morning and take the train back.'
And that's what I did."
"The trains is very dangerous to sleep. The train not really good because then when you get to the next end of the train, you meet all kind of different people. You can't really close your eye because they have people that rob you. One day I had called the police and I said I came in from Belize, and he told me, 'Don't ride the train."'
"I just go. Whatever the mind say go, I go. Just like yesterday too, a girlfriend called,
'I'm just checking on you.' I'm okay, but I was at the shelter doing different things. So the program where I go, they don't see me almost two weeks. So I guess they must be wondering if I'm dead or alive. I said, 'You no got to worry about that. I'm okay. Something happen, you're going to know.' Thanks to some good people, they look out for me."
'You be homeless, you got your freedom out there, you go wherever you want to go.
But once you go in the shelter, you have to be a certain time to be in the shelter. Some of them will go to sleep and some of them talk all night, instead of go to sleep. But to me, it wasn't really bad, it was okay."
There are some that don't want to go into the shelter. Some prefer to stay outside because they're fine on the streets, so some of them even go to the beach, go sleep out there, cover up, altogether get drunk and just go sleep. How they do that? I don't know. I tried one time. I went and did that at the storage, and I went into the storage to sleep. Oh, my god. It was cold. I said, 'My god, how the hell do they do that?' So it ain't my cup of tea."
"People homeless, you know, all different kind of a way. Life is very hard."
Kenny
Longtime Evanston resident Kenny, 60, has worked as a security officer, a valet driver, and doing odd jobs for a construction company. When the building Kenny lived in was sold in 2016, he was evicted and lost everything but the clothes on his back. After another period of homelessness, now he again has his own place.
"Truth be told, I once was a volunteer for Connections, 31 years ago-doing intakes and putting people in housing. I never thought I'd be a client, you know? I always been on the end of helping people, as opposed to getting help. And now I need help, desperately."
"I'm discombobulated, sometimes I'm confused. I'm angry, agitated, frustrated, and very territorial because of my homelessness. It just change your whole perception on life. The problem is once you fall, it's kind of hard to get up when you don't have a real support system behind you."
"I just can't imagine how we have so much homelessness here in Evanston today, with all the money that's going to this city. This is a very lucrative city right here. And it's just hard to see people sleeping on the streets downtown, on the park benches. You only see this if you come here at night, one, two in the morning. You see them laying on the curbs, in the doorways of the stores. It's a sad thing. That's when you really see the people that have no place to stay. After midnight, you see 'em coming out."
"I struggle with finding a place to sleep each and every day, trying to find food. I struggle with some real depression. Connections helps me with my medication. They have a psychiatrist on staff who I see every thirty days. They have a food pantry. There's a lot of benefits that come with being connected to Connections. It's the truth. Great organization."
Cooper
One of seven siblings, COOPER is a traveler. He went to Egypt on a high-school exchange trip. He has worked in Georgia, visited the Caribbean and Mexico, road-tripped twice to the West Coast, and lived for almost eight years in Alaska-sleeping in a tent with a dog for three winters. After sleeping outside by the lakefront and in a local parking garage, Cooper moved into his own apartment in Evanston in 2020.
"I don't got two nickels to rub together. I get by with a little help from my friends. Sure, I don't have a home and a great job, two kids and a wonderful wife, a car payment, a mortgage, and da-da-da. But you know what? You flip that over-you're free. If I get a job and renew my passport, I can go any f---ing where I want to. I'm not held down by a job, money, or marriage. You're free. And there's something to be said for that."
"I got a tent. I don't want to be in the shelter because I can't sleep in there. I've got a lakefront spot that I like, and I can't wait to get to with the summer coming. I love that spot. I sleep so good next to water, man."
"When it's cold I like to look for little knock-outs. Where you see a fire escape is a good place to look for a spot. I look for the enclosure. You know, something to break the wind and something that might have a watershed so I don't get wet. You know, that sort of thing. My bedroll, a few thick moving blankets, a sheet on that, and a comforter with a wool blanket and a little cotton spread over that with a pillow. In the morning I just roll it up with a couple of straps, and put it in a duffle bag and in big black garbage bags. And I tote it out. You know what I mean? To wherever my stash place for that time. You see, because the stash place changes. You can't put it in the same place. I roll it up and take it away the same, but I don't always put it in the same spot."
"They like to call this a homeless community, but it's cutthroat out here, man. Shit, a few nights ago, man, I had some knucklehead come over here and say it was his spot I was like 'You're mistaken, man.' And then he came back when I was laying down, but fortunately I got my little enforcer here. I told him 'You walk up on me again when I'm sleeping and you won't walk away.' I'll go to extreme measures to defend me and mine."
"I try to be as negotiable as anyone. I don't own this parking garage. I left some cardboard over on the other side of the stairwell there. They don't care as long as you pick up after yourself, man. They're cool. I mean, there was half a dozen people sleeping down there at some point a year ago. But they raised too much ruckus, set a fire over there and stuff - by the gas main over there. So someone put up the signs that say, 'Don't leave your stuff here. Because if you do, we're throwing it out.' And they did. They came and took everybody's stuff - except for mine. So that showed me something. So I'm trying to honor that. The maintenance guy comes down here, says good morning every day, We're cool. And now they have a new guy, he's cool too. He tried to give me some money. I said 'I'm good, thanks."'
Cindy and Hunter
The downward spiral of Cindy, and her son Hunter, began four years ago in Tennessee. Cindy, 60, was a successful bartender in Nashville but lacked medical insurance. After a major health crisis left her unable to work, she lost her job, savings, home, and possessions. She moved to the Chicago area to support Hunter, 29, a high school dropout and young father who was battling drug addiction and living on the streets. Cindy and Hunter were homeless together in Evanston for six months. They now have a one-bedroom apartment in Des Plaines, but face the serious challenges of finding work and recovering their mental and physical health.
Cindy: "We have been through hell and high water since we've been here. Thank God we're not sleeping on the streets anymore. I have gone from working since I was 16 years old to where I've got severe depression, anxiety, and the beginnings of PTSD. Hunter's got the same thing."
Hunter: "Up until I found Connections for the Homeless, I was just spun out of control, really. My psychiatrist, he was kind of like the only male figure I had to tell all my feelings to. He didn't judge me, or put a cover on the book before the story was told. He accepted me for who I was, and helped me get off of Methadone. I'm still on Benzodiazepine, just a low dose."
Cindy: "One of the main reasons why I jumped and came here from Nashville is because we couldn't get any help in Tennessee. It's a Republican state. What do you do? You work. And if you don't work, you go to jail. They'll pick your ass up and put you in jail for being a vagrant in a heartbeat. It's just how it is."
Hunter: "I always thought I would have a home to go to. It hurt my mother a lot, I could see, when she couldn't provide that for me. I really didn't realize how fortunate others were, and how fortunate I was, before this happened. You never realize how important a home is until
it's gone."
Hunter: "Hilda's Place played a big role in my life. I had a locker there. I felt safe leaving stuff there so I could accumulate things. I started getting a wardrobe together, setting aside interview clothes. I could take a shower, get something in my stomach."
Hunter: "We're just now getting on our feet. We don't have any money at all, but we do have a place to call home. I've got some milk in the fridge. And I've got a phone to call my mother with now. I'm super happy. I feel human."
Cindy: "It feels good knowing that we've got a home. I don't have to worry about tomorrow night or the night after that."
Karl
A Boston native, Karl came to Chicago 18 years ago to take a position at Home Depot, where he ran four departments. After losing that job, he worked in real estate, earned a bachelor's degree in urban and public affairs, and started a painting business. He was homeless about 12 times over a seven-year period, but nearly always working. In 2019, Connections helped Karl move into his own apartment.
"I'm 57 years old, so I got to be very creative in getting employment that pays enough to sustain me. I'm capable of doing a lot of things, but I have to also be realistic. I learned, and I'm still learning, how to be socially positive. What I came to understand is that the majority of all human beings understand we're part of the universe. We look at elements in the air, the molecules. And what I see out there, right in front of me, I see a tree that redevelops itself over and over again. It's a reminder that I could do the same because that's natural, and so am I."
"I now have a roof over my head. I got back into doing my painting, but then, last summer, I had corneal abrasions in my left eye. I had just renewed my insurance for my business, and
I had to stop abruptly because it was getting excruciatingly painful. My eye is still problematic. I can't drive. There is a solution, I just can't afford it. It's called medical LASIK, where they remove the scar tissue. So I'm at the point where I'm trying to find a job that has full-range benefits, so I can get this resolved."
Kyle
Kyle, 45, is from the small town of Lexington, Missouri. To pursue his dream of an acting career, he moved to Evanston in 2006, living at the YWCA and taking classes at Second City in Chicago. He worked in the laundry at the Y to pay for his room, did stand-up at open mies around the city, and took acting classes. Kyle became homeless in 2018 but still has the occasional audition. To earn cash, he works for an online delivery service. Connections housed him at various hotels during the Covid-19 pandemic. Kyle moved into a place of his own in 2021.
"I became homeless in March of 2018, when it was still cold outside, right? I was having to spend my nights at Burger King. They know me and I'm cool there, but they don't let you lay down in the booths. So for about two months, I was sleeping upright, and that screwed up the circulation in my body. I had edema and my feet blew up and looked like footballs. Once it started warming up enough where I could sleep outside on the benches and lay down for a whole eight hours, I got my circulation back."
"There's a lot of misconceptions about what homeless people are like. One of the myths is that all the homeless people are either drug addicts, alcoholics, or mentally ill. And that's not the case. Let's be real, there is some of that. But everybody's got their own story."
"Some people think there's a moral value to how much money you have and there's not. I don't look down on myself for being homeless. Yes, I've made mistakes, but I don't think less of myself. My homelessness has never caused me to miss out on anything that I've wanted to do. Not having money has caused me to miss out on things, but the fact that I'm homeless has never actually prevented me from doing anything."
"My parents live down in Missouri and they know I'm homeless, but they think I'm in the shelter. I don't want them knowing that I'm out on the street because they would be like, 'Come home.' I don't want to go home - that's a step backwards. I'm getting acting work up here. Not much, but some. Whereas if I go back to the small town where I'm from, that's going to disappear. I don't want to go back to square one. You're better off being homeless in a place where your dreams can be achieved than you are with a roof over your head where there's no dreams at all."
Wanda
Wanda, age 58, is the mother of two grown daughters and has three grandchildren. Born in Chicago and raised in Iowa, she is a high school graduate and attended college for three years. As a homeless person in Evanston, she has sought shelter in the public library and slept in the entrances of downtown businesses. In 2020 Wanda moved into her own apartment.
"In 2019, I became homeless in January, in the winter time, and I had some cold nights. I had to travel from church to church and to the warming centers. I've had some painful nights too because I have sciatica. I had to be around a lot of frustrated people, and I was frustrated myself, but I had control of my situation. I just kept busy, kept going, and kept moving on."
"During the daytime my schedule is: I get up and go to the library and I wash up, put on a fresh thing of clothing. They know me because I spend most of my time in the library. At 1 :30, I come here to Hilda's Place, get some service, go back to the library and I read, just to keep my mind off a lot of things."
"I really have no ambitions like I used to have. My stuff is in storage,. My daughter paid my storage. Right now I can feel the spirit that I'm getting back to myself because I do a lot of reading, studying the Bible, and I'm studying for my driver's test."
"I'm determined to try to get into a home and not be on the streets because I have seen that it's just not good to be homeless. But sometimes I feel like giving up and just telling the Lord to take me. When I get tired, I call my daughter and say I really need some rest and she'll come and get me."
Audrey
Audrey, 49, lived with her parents and worked as a caregiver before becoming homeless in 2012. She is housed now and sees a therapist, but she still deals with depression, bipolar disorder, and diabetes, among other challenges. "I don't know what I would've done if I didn't have Connections," she says.
"I've been working with a therapist for a year. She's helped me open up and express my feelings and thoughts and emotions. Being homeless doesn't make you a bad person. You're still a human being. You still have emotions and thoughts and perspectives in life."
"Now that I'm housed, I have peace of mind. I get along with my roommates. I feel secure.
I volunteer at Connections, so I'm giving back to the community. Evanston has a very big homeless population and everyone takes care of everyone. It feels like family to me. I've got people there I can trust, that I can count on. And they can count on me. I'm living my hopes and dreams, I'm surviving. I've survived so far. Keep moving forward."
Donna
Donna, 59, worked 30 years as a dental assistant in Chicago before being laid off. "I never found a job. For three years I was on unemployment. I have sent over; my hand to God, over 1000 resumes." Donna's first experience with homelessness happened when she and her two children left her husband. Over the years, Donna has worked temp jobs in manufacturing and other areas and now cleans houses when she can find the work. With this income she bought a car; which is often where she spends her nights. Right before the Covid-19 pandemic in 2019 Donna moved into a place of her own in Chicago.
"When I first became homeless it was like ... 'I'm in hell.' I was like, 'why am I around these people like this?' This is not my character. I don't do drugs. I don't smoke weed. I don't drink. You know, my worst bad habit is cigarettes."
"Most homeless people just don't buy cars, okay? So it shows me that my mind is still moving forward. Thank God I got the car. If I had plates and stickers, then I could put it on the street. But now I'm paying for a garage every month. Sometimes I go in that car and I sleep like a queen. I don't feel like a queen."
"I slept in a shelter last week. I was too tired. I had got off work. I think I worked ... 40 ... 38 hours that weekend. And I said, 'I'm too tired to walk to this car.' So I went to the shelter. And the lady I slept by, on one end, she was pregnant with twins. She was drunk, and she was snoring. So I said, 'Okay, I can deal with this. Let me flip my body, go down this side.' I went down this side. And I smelled some shoes that .... l'm telling you, I still smell it."
"It wears on you. It tears on you mentally, spiritually, emotionally, physically. You just drained. It's like, 'Am I ever gonna get out of this situation?' And then you fight to try to get out, and something hits you that takes you ten feet backwards. You're like, 'Damn. I still gotta move forward.' It's like I fight through hell every day of my life. I hope I haven't become immune to living this way. It hurts to the core. At least I have a mind to save, and plan, and strategize, and work. I mean, what can I do? That's all. So that's what I'm trying to build. Stability. That's what I need. I am not homeless. I fell into homelessness."
"I think my children feel sorry for me. They don't know me as this ... homeless lifestyle. They know me as a different person. 'My mom is aggressive, a fighter, always busy, always helping people, always being innovative.' It really kills my spirit and makes me fight at the same time. The thing I hate in this situation is that I cannot spend time with my grandchildren."
"Cleaning is getting me by. And I enjoy washing people's toilets out. Woo! I enjoy the money, really. I mean, you just take a little scrub brush and go around. It don't bother me. Long as it ain't that bad. I feel like I'm cleaning my way to my own place."