Voices from Venice Boulevard
When we talk about the homeless population, we tend to focus on people who are mentally ill or under the influence of drugs or alcohol. But many of the 40,000 homeless people in the city of Los Angeles — 33% to 71%, depending on whose numbers you use — are neither. They are simply not able to afford places to live in Los Angeles, where rents for apartments average $2,500 a month. ¶ Below are edited accounts from a series of interviews with three people who have recently been living along Venice Boulevard, on the Westside of Los Angeles. I met them walking and driving in Venice, where I live, and all agreed to share their stories with The Times. ¶ The narratives of these three men belie many stereotypes about the homeless population and should keep any policy debate grounded in reality: Unhoused individuals are not a blight to be removed; they are people who need help. They have problems, but they are not the problem. Read their full stories at latimes.com/opinion.
Paul Alvarez Venice and Grand View boulevards
I’m 59 years old. I was born in Santa Monica, and I went to John Muir Elementary, John Adams Middle School, and then to Samohi [Santa Monica High School]. My favorite subject was math. When I was in the fourth grade, I was tutoring sixth-grade kids in math — fractions, algebra. In high school I was on the wrestling team and the football team. I liked sports because I was able to get rid of a lot of aggression.
After I graduated, I got a job working for my father, driving trucks and hauling gravel for freeway construction. I made $20 an hour. I liked it.
During this time, I had two girlfriends. They were both nice, but they were night and day. Linda — we were just together for too long, six years. We were in each other’s space, all the time, so we’d get into arguments. She had two daughters, and they loved me.
Then there was Valerie. We did lots of fun things. Movies, restaurants, bike rides. We were going to get married. But she was killed by a drunk driver outside my house. She was coming to see me.
I’m not an addict, and I don’t drink. When I was 17, I was drinking all the time, and I got into a car accident. I was in a coma for 37 days. I didn’t drink after that.
I used to live up the street, on Inglewood. I lived there for about 4 ½ years, before the incident.
One night a brown recluse spider bit me in my eye when I was asleep. I didn’t feel it, but I woke up and my eye was swollen. I went to the doctor, and they sent me to UCLA, where I was in bed for a month. When I got out, I owed them $15,000. Since I hadn’t paid my rent, my landlord had kicked me out. That’s when I became homeless.
Now I sleep in a tent, near the post office parking lot. At 3 a.m., I wake up and start looking for cans. I walk them to the recycling plant, on Venice and Fairfax [about four miles]. I get about $40 for each haul.
After that, I take the bus back to the post office, where I sit; I have a sign that says: “Little help please. Thank you. God bless.” The people who work in the post office are nice to me; they say hello.
My mother lives in Mar Vista, but in an assisted-living facility, and she’s 95. I can’t ask her for anything. I have two sisters in Santa Monica and Culver City. They know I’m here, but they don’t want anything to do with me. I have a son, with Valerie. He lives in Venice, and he works two jobs. He comes to visit, but he can’t help out. He has bills of his own.
My goal is to save for a place to live, and start looking for a job. But I have expenses, you see. I have a girlfriend — April — and I have to support her. She lives with me, in the tent. She has a car, a 2004 Ford Explorer; it needs gas. And we just got a little dog — Scrappy. He needs dog food.
Dwayne Venice and Lincoln boulevards
I’m 64 years old. I was born in Minnesota and grew up in Minnetonka. I’ve been homeless for 21 years.
It started when I was in Minnesota. I owned a landscaping company. I liked it. It’s creative. At one point I called it Landmen, then I called it Rainbow. The name’s not important. What’s important is people stopped hiring me to landscape. I went bankrupt. To start the business I’d bought a Bobcat [tractor], a dump truck and a snowplow. I owed money on all of them, so I had to sell them. I had this great house that I’d actually built with logs. Sold that, too. I barely had enough to survive.
In Minnesota, you can’t live in your car. I was 45. I have three brothers and a sister, but we weren’t talking anymore. And they had their own families. I couldn’t ask them for help. I figured I’d drive south. It’s warmer.
This is my life now. With no money, it gets old. My life — it shut off. It’s hard to explain it. It’s like there are two versions of life — the homeless version and the not-homeless version. People don’t understand. They can’t.
I get money from the government. I get food stamps, and I get Social Security. I live on that. I’m OK with that. They could give me more — how about a place to shower, or to “unload”? Or more money. The government still thinks it’s 1950. Or a place to sit — somewhere in the shade?
Some homeless people won’t take money from the government. I’ve never understood that. I don’t understand people who live in the extremes. Some people are just like that — either want to kiss you or kill you.
I was married for a bit. I met her at a bar called the Minnetonka Mist. After I saw her, well, that was that. I’d rather not say her name. If I talk about it, I have to think about it. We got along the way married people get along — then it ended. I haven’t been with anyone since. That’s just how relationships go. It’s not just me. People don’t get along for some reason; then they do. And then they don’t again. They want to kiss each other for a while, but then they want to kill each other. It’s one or the other of the extremes.
For a few years I had this great spot in Marina del Rey, under a tree. That shade was nice. But then they booted me out. Now I’m in the sun all day. It’s another case of the extremes. At night it’s too cold.
Do I smoke? Yes, a pack every four days. American Spirits. It’s enough to kill a normal human, but not me. I don’t drink and I don’t do drugs, though I smoke pot whenever I can. You have to do the things that make you feel good.
In the mornings, I go to McDonald’s, to get the two-for-$4.50 — two Egg McMuffins for $4.50. I watch TV there — “Ellen.” Yes, I know she’s ending it. Oh, well. I listen to the radio all day, so I know what’s happening.
Blue Venice Boulevard, between Electric Avenue and Abbot Kinney Boulevard
I’m 54, and I grew up in Venice. Been here all my life. I went to elementary school and middle school here — but I got in fights and I was kicked out. They put me in a white school, Emerson Junior High. I’d get into it with the white boys. I was in a gang then, and what I can say is that I was generally in the process of doing stupid shit.
Gangs then were different than gangs now. They were modeled off the Black Panthers. You were just protecting your neighborhood from outside forces, from people who came into it and wanted to change it. No one could tell us how to run our neighborhood — not even the police. If white people came into our neighborhood, we’d rough them up; they wouldn’t want to come back.
It wasn’t what I expected, to be honest. I expected a group of people I could depend on, but it was violent.
I left high school my last year. I thought life wasn’t about going to school. Chemistry, math — what did that have to do with my life? I got into drugs, cocaine and crack. This was the ’80s. I was addicted. I hated it. I felt like the drug took my whole being. One day my cousin told me to quit, but I just couldn’t. I picked up a mirror and I smashed it; I cut my wrist. It looked like I’d tried to kill myself. I thought: ‘You may as well bleed out. That’s the only way to quit.’ They put me in a mental hospital after that. They wanted me to stay for three days. I stayed 24 hours. I was in a straitjacket. Then I quit.
I’ve been on the street for four years. I’ve been at this spot on and off for that time. I sleep in that doghouse [points to a doghouse, 3 feet by 6 feet]. Most of the time, it’s safe. Sometimes it’s not. The other day, a woman — she looked like a college student — stabbed me, twice.
I’ve been married twice. The first time was for a year. I didn’t like her much, but I felt obligated to step up. The second one was for longer, and I had four kids. I have four boys and a girl. They live in Lancaster, with their mothers. I had to leave the family. They didn’t understand what I was going through, not having a job. I didn’t want to be that kind of person around them. I needed to leave.
I think about my kids every day. I went to see them after I was let out of prison — this was for drug-related offenses — and my daughter looked at me and said, “I don’t need you, and I don’t need your money.” She was 10. They thought I was the same person, but I’d let go of my anger. They couldn’t see that. I never went back.
I don’t take help from the government. When the government gives you money they tell you what to do. Get this job, go there, do that. No. I do odd jobs for people in the neighborhood. I can fix anything.
My favorite job, when I was younger, was lineman — climbing telephone poles, replacing wire. I liked that. It’s nice up there. You’re away from everything. Free.
‘I have a girlfriend — April — and I have to support her. She lives with me, in the tent . ... And we just got a little dog — Scrappy.’ — PAUL ALVAREZ
‘It’s like there are two versions of life — the homeless version and the not-homeless version. People don’t understand. They can’t.’ — DWAYNE
‘I left high school my last year. I thought life wasn’t about going to school. Chemistry, math — what did that have to do with my life?’ — BLUE