Homeless vet’s one wish for RV: ‘Just let me park’ without towing OTIS R. TAYLOR JR.
Kelly Thompson slowly hobbled down the rusted metal steps of his camper, the clacking tips of crutches measuring each labored step.
“I’m a mess, but I’m still ticking,” the retired Vietnam veteran said as we stood in the grassy field off Wood Street in West Oakland where an RV camp has sprouted.
A camper on the field near Interstate 880 is where Thompson, 70, now lives.
Last month, he lived in his camper a few blocks away, near 20th and Campbell streets. But then the city showed up to tow RVs, trailers and campers from that site. Thompson was lucky — he moved his camper the day before.
But he wasn’t so lucky with his battered pickup truck. The city towed it. Recently, as he rode his bike around the city trying to get his truck back, he hit a pothole and fell, injuring a hip — which explains the crutches.
“Just let me park in a place where I know you’re not going to come get me,” he said.
The homeless crisis in Oakland is more than people sleeping in tents in sprawling encampments. There are people sleeping in cars and recreational vehicles in West Oakland, North Oakland and East Oakland. These RV camps clog up streets in business and residential areas. Towing the vehicles is devastating for those who live in them. Why would a city that claims to care about its less fortunate residents do that?
To deal with the problem of RVs parking in neighborhoods, the Oakland City Council has approved opening three parking sites that will provide up to 150 RVs with secure parking, sanitary facilities and garbage services. The city is negotiating a contract with Peralta Community College District for a fourth site.
The parking sites may not open until next spring, but they’re nonetheless good news for people living in RVs and campers around the city who fear getting tickets because of expired registrations or unpaid parking tickets. They know that if the vehicle is towed they’ll probably never see it again because many can’t afford the fees attached to retrieving their vehicles, including unpaid tickets.
“I’m worried about (the police) all the time,” Thompson told me, slumping his body on the shoulder rests of his crutches. “You know it’s hard to rest at night knowing that they may be knocking on your door sometime during the night like they have done to some people.”
He knew the police were coming on the morning of Oct. 23. That’s why he moved the camper — his home for six months now — the night before. He got it free on Craigslist, and it’s in good shape, save for the seams splitting on the roof ’s edges. Thompson, who has a white beard and stringy white hair, uses solar energy to power the camper. The windows are covered with reflective bubble insulation to keep it cool during the day and warm at night.
“For me, this is very, very comfortable,” Thompson said. “A small house on wheels.”
When the city breaks up trailer encampments, people call Thompson so he can use his pickup truck, with its multiple hitches, to help people move. That was his plan on Oct. 23, but his truck was the first vehicle towed — and some people suspect that was not a coincidence.
“It was over,” Thompson said, recalling the ensuing chaos. “They towed as many (RVs and campers) as they could get their hands on.”
People scrambled to start their RVs. Some threw their clothes and other personal stuff out windows and onto the sidewalks — stuff they had no way of carrying or storing, so the artifacts of their lives stayed on the sidewalks until the city disposed of them.
It cost Thompson $700 and several bike rides to city and DMV offices to get his truck. He was told that because his truck had expired tags, he had to get a moving permit. Thompson, who gets $1,195 in Social Security income the third day of every month, had to borrow to pay the fees. He had planned to buy a $400 catalytic converter for his truck this month, but he’ll push that back because he has to pay people back in the RV community.
For three years, he had lived in a mobile home before the engine died. It had expired tags, and it was towed by the city. Before that, he lived in a minivan, parked at the highway underpass not far from where we stood in the field off Wood Street.
“I just need a helping hand up out of this slump I find myself in,” Thompson said. “I’m at the age where I like to think my mind is still bright, but my body just doesn’t want to do what it used to do without a lot of aggravation and pain.”
Thompson had a freelance electrical job later that morning so he hobbled back up the steps to get his tools, the clacking tips of crutches measuring each labored step.