Homeless for a Day

UMBC’s familiar grounds and buildings take on a very different look when you are searching for a warm place to spend the night outdoors. In everyday life you think of the buildings as forums for the activities within: teaching and learning, eating and sleeping. But when the insides are off limits to you, they are simply structures: a wall that blocks the wind, a stairwell you might crouch behind without getting too muddy.

My companions and I are already tired, hungry and frustrated. We had spent a long day in Baltimore as a part of one of UMBC’s Alternative School Break programs. The two of them—Ryan Riehl and Al Volkening—had signed up for a week of intensive learning experiences relating to poverty and homelessness. On this day—Wednesday, March 18th—I had joined them for “poverty plunge”: a taste of what it would be like for newly homeless people trying to get by on Baltimore’s streets.

We had met at 7:30 a.m. in the lobby of Erickson Hall, Ryan and Al emerging with seven other students who had been spending nights camped out in a nearby lounge. Two hours later we were shivering together at a downtown bus stop, unprepared for a 40 degree wind chill on a day when the forecast had called for a toasty 68 degrees. Eventually we arrived at our destination north of Fells Point. The students were given roles to play: Ryan was a depressed, injured veteran unable to pay the rent after his mother died; Al a recovering meth addict just out of prison. Our instructions: stay within the designated 20-block area. Plan to spend no more than $2 apiece on food for the day. Develop plans for obtaining meals, shelter, medicine and jobs. Meet back at 3:00 p.m.

One day on the streets can't really convey the experience of being homeless. Ryan, Al and I had the enormous psychological advantage of knowing our situation was temporary. But after a few hours of fruitlessly searching for services and being turned away from churches, we were tired and lethargic, and I needed a place to go to the bathroom. That wouldn’t have been a problem if we had money to spend, but ubiquitous signs warning that restrooms were for “customers only” suggested that relieving our bladders would require emptying our wallets. Eventually we all found some useful services at a mental health clinic on Broadway (Ryan and Al interviewed a manager about their characters’ needs and I got to use the bathroom). Not long after that we pooled our $6 to purchase three bananas, a bag of tortillas and a jar of peanut butter from a corner market we had passed several times. We ate on an iron bench on the Broadway median strip.

Several very long hours later we were back on campus. The students eagerly returned to their lounge, looking forward to resting indoors, only to discover that their “shelter” had closed for the night. Each was given a “sandwich” consisting of a thin slice of lunch meat between two pieces of bread and told to search for a place to sleep. Ryan, Al and I stalked off in the direction of The Commons at around 7:00 p.m.

Along either side of Hilltop Circle between Administration Drive and Commons Drive runs a gulley that provides some shelter from the chilly wind. Here there are tunnels beneath the street with bright lights that provide a little warmth. One of the tunnels is full of water and muck, but another is dry, and we decide that is where we will spend the night if we must. In the last glimmering of daylight we head back toward the center of campus in search of cardboard to shield us from the cold concrete and metal. Other groups of wandering “homeless” have taken refuge in a Commons Garage stairwell, and are using newspapers as blankets and pillows.

My little band has reached the AOK Library and finally located a recycling bin when Kati Henry, the student coordinating this part of the ASB experience, calls my cell phone and asks us to separate and stop talking to each other. Ryan walks up a hill to the recycling bin, grabs a bag of paper scraps and huddles with it against the outer wall of the Library. Al stretches out on a bench next to the pond, then finds a warmer spot next to the glass wall of the Financial Aid Office. I lie on a nearby hillside, my head on my backpack, and shiver. I know that this last, lonely phase of the simulation will last only about 45 minutes, but Ryan and Al are literally and figuratively in the dark.

Half an hour later, I am huddled on the ground next to the Library when a female Financial Aid staff member I don’t know approaches the office door, gives me a concerned look, and rushes inside. Ten minutes later I’m pacing around for warmth when she emerges with a female colleague. I realize that they must be frightened to see a strange man hovering in the dark near the door, and try to reassure them by smiling and saying hello. Not surprisingly, the gesture seems to backfire: As someone who does not belong outside the Library at night, my actions can only be seen as menacing. The two of them walk quickly to a nearby car and get inside.

At that point time is up, and the simulation ends. I gather Ryan and Al for the quick walk back to Erickson Hall and a hot meal, all of us grateful to come in from the cold and conscious of the fact that many of the people whose experiences we had been seeking to understand would not have the same chance that night.

When I was in college, I would not have been willing to spend my spring break experiencing hardships and helping others. I’m very impressed by the dozens of UMBC students who did exactly that. Congratulations and thanks to Jordanna Spencer from the Office of Student Life and Sara Leidner from the Residential Life Office, who serve as the behind-the-scenes point people for the Alternative School Break programs, and to the administrators, staff and students who have made huge contributions to their success.

Update: If you're interested in another opportunity to learn from experience, check out the class I'll be teaching in the fall, which is described in my next post (here).