Biographical information:
Journalist Linda Dumont began her writing about the Boyle-McCauley neighborhood of Edmonton shortly after she arrived from rural Alberta in 1989. She has been a reporter and editor of the Boyle-McCauley News ; a regular columnist with Our Voice , the street newspaper, and the founding editor of the new Edmonton Street Newspaper. A poet and freelance writer, she has also run a volunteer soup kitchen ministry in Edmonton's inner city for 15 years.
Introduction to Essay:
For more than a decade, writer Linda Dumont has collected stories from residents in Edmonton's inner city where she lives and works. Photographer Pieter de Vos documents the evolving life of the Boyle-McCauley neighbourhood with his camera. Their daily work adds a new dimension to our understanding of their community.
The inner city community of Boyle McCauley is bordered to the west by Chinatown, and, to the north by Little Italy. The Drag is in between - a narrow strip along 96 th Street with an abundance of helping agencies and churches, HIV clinics and a very busy health centre. The surrounding community is also dotted with large shelters and transitional housing units was well as homes. The neighbourhood has gained a reputation for street drugs, addictions and a large homeless population as well as working girls standing on the corners along 95 th Street plying their trade.
Nine years ago, Rain Stevens, 31, was one of those girls. Her life has changed radically since then. Just a few months ago, for the first time in her life, she used a credit card. She said she went to West Edmonton Mall, and she could hardly believe that anyone would give her credit. She has earned it, working full time as an administrative assistant at a mission along 95 th Street since September.
Rain said she started working the streets as a runaway 12-year-old at an age when she wasn't old enough to make very good decisions.
"I was in foster care at the time. I didn't want rules and curfews so I chose to run away. I went to work on the streets. I thought it was a cool thing - like in those movies like Pretty Woman. I was 12 but I said I was 16 or 17." Her voice hardens. "It's hypocritical for society to promote movies like that and then to condemn the prostitutes working on the streets."
Rain said she worked every night, sometimes making $100, sometimes $900, depending on how many tricks she had. By the time she was 17, she was hooked on drugs, an addiction that started with pot and hash, the thing to do then, and went on to heavier drugs: cocaine, speed, T's and R's (a combination of the prescription drugs Talwin and Ritalin, termed "poor man's heroin"), mushrooms, and whatever else was around.
"I quit all that at 22," she said. "I quit the streets, too. You can't quit one without the other. If you try to quit drugs, every second customer is offering you crack."
Unemployed, and with little education since she'd quit school when she ran away from home, Rain applied for welfare and upgraded her education. She also briefly returned to working the streets from 1997 to 1998 out of desperation, but she never went back to the drugs. She has a very good reason not to return to drugs: her eight-year-old daughter.
"I never had alcohol or drugs in front of my daughter," she said. And she wants to keep it that way.
To share her story, and to give other women a place to tell their stories, Rain built a website called Women of Night . "It was a pet project on something I knew. There really wasn't anything that centered on the women themselves."
On the website women described their personal experiences. Rain also posted warnings about bad johns, with descriptions of customers, and a list of resources for girls who wanted to get off the street.
A woman of determination, Rain spent 48 straight hours preparing that website. And some of the computer skills she taught herself are proving very useful at her new job where she works on the computer, answers the phones, and does the accounting.
A block west of the mission, at the Bissell Centre's monthly Tuesday night coffee house, singer/songwriter Doug Carlson is a regular entertainer. He strums his guitar and sings, sometimes in English and sometimes in Cree. He is a gifted musician whose talent has been honed by years of survival in Edmonton inner city. In 2002, two of his songs were recorded on the Patchworks CD that is sold by Our Voice vendors on the streets.
Doug said his music is "a gift from the Creator that just won't go away." He loves performing and seeing people laughing and dancing, clapping to his music and having a good time.
Doug said he composes his songs about what is happening around him, at the moment. "I was watching people play chess and I wrote Move Your Bishop From the Pawn ," said Doug. "In life if you don't move your bishop from the pawn you'll be in trouble."
Homeless most of his life, Doug said his music has given him the strength to keep going. His parents were alcoholics, and he was put into foster homes at the age of four. He never accepted foster care.
"They weren't my family," said Doug. "I didn't want to stay with them. I just ran way. They kept putting me in youth places and foster homes. I survived by stealing food and clothes, and slept under porches or wherever I could until they caught up with me. I was constantly running away, sometimes for months at a time."
He found his first guitar when he was surviving on the streets as a runaway eight-year-old.
"I saw a guitar sticking out of a garbage bin," he said. 'The neck was busted, but I took it to Uncle Paul's store and he fixed it up for me with crazy glue. He taught me my first chord. I'd take that guitar down to the bush and fool around with it. I even slept with that guitar."
Doug missed out on his schooling until he went to jail at 16. There, he started studying. "I used to read the dictionary," he said, "And I learned writing from a guard at Grande Cache. She would write things down for me and I copied them."
Doug has multiple health problems He said he is missing his gall bladder, one kidney and his spleen. He has been stabbed, has been in accidents, and struggles with an addiction to sniffing solvents. He started sniffing at the age of eight just to escape the reality of being alone. He said it helped him get away from it all.
"I've taken pills for depression, but when I'm really down, I still sniff. It seems to be the easy way out," Doug said.
For the past year and a half, Doug has been collecting an AISH pension (Assured Income for the Severely Handicapped). He has a place to call home for the first time. And he is sharing the gift of his music, mainly in Aboriginal circles, sometimes as far away as Bonnyville and St. Paul, playing in bars, at banquets, wherever there is a request.
"I played one song, Crazy, at a bar and the next night they were requesting it. You can't put a price on that, especially when it's my own composition. That always makes me feel good," said Doug.
Just east of 95th Street, street poet Betty Nordin has a cozy apartment in a subsidized housing unit. Her apartment is decorated with Aboriginal art and ceramic pieces she hand-painted. Betty's life is a major triumph. She was reborn a decade ago after years of hardship on the streets where she at times resorted to prostitution to fuel her alcoholism. Her poetry, written in a straightforward style, shares her experiences with clarity and simplicity.
Betty's first book, published in 1998, is titled Wingtips. Her poetry clearly relates tales of street life, some in the first person, and others describing events Betty witnessed. She writes one poem about seeing a drunk woman pushing another in a shopping cart; another about a person waiting to be served at a food bank. Her book was distributed by Our Voice vendors on the streets, and all copies quickly sold.
Betty's second book, aptly titled Phoenix , was published two years later. In this volume, Betty shares the way her life has changed since leaving the street. As well as the book, Betty sold T-shirts with the screen-printed picture of a phoenix on the front.
Betty's third book, Straddling the Fence , is dedicated to helping women involved in prostitution make positive changes in their lives. Along with the book, Betty produced and sold illustrated posters. Proceeds from their sale are donated to The Prostitution Action and Awareness Foundation of Alberta. Betty impressed the students at Lakeland College in Lac la Biche when she described her past experiences as a woman living on the street.
It is Betty's hope that she can change the lives of those still caught up in street life, both by example and by offering personal support. On AISH she is limited by the precarious state of her health, including schizophrenia, a stiff leg, multiple operations for hernias, and rheumatoid arthritis, a legacy from the hardships of her past. She does what she can. Helping her homeless, younger sister, Marge off the street was a major personal victory. Marge, who has fetal alcohol syndrome, shared an apartment with Betty before moving into her own home, another apartment in the same subsidized housing unit.
Betty has never turned her back on her friends from the inner city.
"What keeps me going is I go back to the street and I see the people. There is always a big hug and a handshake," said Betty. "They are so glad to see me. It's great to know that I am still recognized."
Betty is thinking about writing a fourth book of poetry, but she is still recovering from a small stroke a year ago, which left her hands weakened. For Betty, who has always been fiercely independent, it has been humbling to depend on others for help. "I was angry in the beginning when I got this illness," she said, "but then I realized that there were simple things in life that I wasn't doing. I had to get Marge to cut up my meat."
Recently Betty was thrilled to be given a copy of the book Raven's Flight. She was attending the women's lunch at the Bissell Centre when a woman came to donate free books including Raven's Flight , which tells the story of a girl who was captured and sold into a prostitution ring: a story Betty has written a poem about. The writer in turn was thrilled to meet Betty, and buy her book. For Betty this was one of those moments of closure when she felt connected to the bigger picture.
For more than ten years, street pastor Pedro Schultz strolled 96th Street, taking prayer walks, stopping in at the drop-ins and bars, and talking to people on the street. One of the black sheep of Christian ministry, his work was unorthodox and unpaid, yet among the people on the street he was often called 'Father Pedro,' a title he was quick to refute. He was also known as a 'man of God'.
"I want to be like Jesus," Pedro said, "He had no building. He went to where the people were." For Pedro that often meant the bars because, he said, "I want to fish where the most fish are."
In the bars, he never drank alcohol or gave anyone money: just fruit, prayer and rides when needed. With his car filled with Christian literature, clothing and food, he drove people to appointments, the food bank depots, to visit loved ones in jail and in hospital;, to meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous and Overcomes, the Christian version of AA; to overnight shelters and most importantly to church.
On Sunday mornings he always had a carload of people including the children he was taking to Sunday school, and on Friday evenings he worked with the Salvation Army children's outreach. He said he felt deeply committed to the children. He hoped to reach them before they become involved in street life.
A lifelong bachelor, he nearly married at one time, but the relationship didn't work out. "God has given me an extended street family," he said. "I have street parents, and brothers and sister, and I even have street grandchildren."
From 1994 to 2003, Pedro lived in a room at the Inner-city Mission on the corner of 103A Avenue and 96th street and was part of a soup kitchen ministry where he preached the gospel and served soup and sandwiches. When the mission closed, he worked with a member of the Salvation Army Church to relocate the displaced residents and the homeless squatters who had taken over the building.
After the mission closed, Pedro moved into a small suite, still on 96th Street. It became a place of refuge to one or two people in need per week. At the risk of his reputation, he did not hesitate to take in women as well as men, because he felt homeless women were most vulnerable. "As a licensed practical nurse, I worked night shifts, so I wasn't even home most of the time," he said.
The skills he learned in his profession have proven useful at the mission and on the street when he has had to administer first aid: bandaging bleeding heads and other injuries, treating victims of seizures. One day he discovered a dead body near the now closed 96th Street liquor store.
Pedro feels especially drawn to Aboriginal people, and wanted to be more effective in ministering to them. Last September he borrowed money and enrolled for a one-year course at Kewatin Bible College in Lac La Biche, a Bible college for Aboriginal Christians and those who want to work with Aboriginal people.
There, his instructors find him to be the most challenging student in his classes because he asks many difficult questions. Until he returns to Edmonton next spring, Pedro visits his street family only on weekends and during holiday breaks, but he says he always remembers them in prayer.
Brenda Redstar, now over 40, is part of that street family. She has been surviving on the streets of the inner city most of her adult life. To survive, she uses the programs from an extensive support network of agencies and churches. She eats at the Marion Centre, The Mustard Seed, the Bissell Centre and the free breakfast program at St. Peter's Lutheran Church. For clothing, she goes to the Bissell Centre or the Marion Centre. She can shower at the Bissell Centre, the George Spady Centre (if they are not too full) or the Boyle McCauley Health Unit.
Even when she is sleeping outside at night, the staff in the Hope Mission Mandown van comes around to check on her, and drop off a bag lunch. When she returns, the lunch is waiting for her.
Brenda came to Edmonton from the White Bear Reserve in Saskatchewan when she was 14 years old, to live her brothers. By the time she was 15, she had quit school and started drinking. Drinking led to homelessness, and while she has occasionally had short term housing, each time she wound up back on the street. She doesn't even want to apply for welfare because there are just too many barriers - she lost her I.D. when the friend who was keeping it passed away. Finding an affordable apartment is very difficult for her.
About ten years ago Brenda met Monty, who was also homeless, and the two made themselves a home in a derelict house on 96 th Street known as "the green house" because of its brightly painted exterior. They had to move when the green house was destroyed by fire after a group of homeless solvent-sniffers moved in.
Their next home was a small house behind the Mount Royal Hotel. There, they fixed up a bedroom, and even shared this humble dwelling with others in need. Brenda took in her street son when he was sick, and cared for him. She also worked part time cleaning for the manager of the hotel, while Monty went dumpster diving, finding food, bottles and other useful items to sell or to use. Sometimes he found canned goods still intact or other sealed food items thrown out when a tenant moved. In one forage, he found a beautiful silver plated candle-holder that he donated to the mission "for the services".
One afternoon, Brenda and Monty were awakened to the sound of heavy machinery. They fled their house just before the wrecker's ball descended splintering the building.
Living on the street, eating makeshift meals, and exposure to all types of weather took its toll. Brenda contracted tuberculosis and had to be hospitalized for a month. While she was in the hospital, social workers helped the couple to find an apartment.
Finally, for more than a year, they had a "real home". Brenda was very proud of her home, collecting bedding and housewares from the different inner city agencies.
But Monty didn't take well to indoor living. He still spent hours wandering the street, even at night. Then in December 2001, Monty came home complaining of a sore side. He had been sent to the hospital, but left because he wanted a drink. What Brenda didn't realize was that he had been stabbed while he was out. Monty died from his injuries a week later, and the man who stabbed him was charged with murder.
Brenda started drinking very heavily after Monty's death. "I just went crazy and ripped the walls apart," she said. "Plus, I knew I couldn't afford the rent without him."
Back on the street, alone since then, Brenda lives outside since most of the derelict houses have been torn down or renovated. She seeks shelter only when the temperature drops too low.
She said, "I have a little hiding spot to sleep in until the weather gets too cold. I've been going to the warming centre (at the Fire Station) this last week. It's better than the Women's Emergency Relief Centre, because there I had to sit up at the table all night because they were too full."
Brenda panhandles, and picks bottles when she can find a partner to help get into the garbage bins. When she has the money she buys a bottle of beer, which she and her friends drink outside, passing the bottle from mouth to mouth until it's empty.
"The best times are when I am drinking with my friends. Usually, we hang out outside sharing a bottle, and joking around," she said.
Thirteen years ago, Dave Berg received what he believed was a death sentence - his life was shattered when he was told he was HIV positive. In 1991, there was a real stigma to the disease and there were a lot of misconceptions about AIDS. Treatment options now available hadn't yet been developed.
"For me, I lost a lot. I came from a small town in redneck Alberta. I lost my status in the community," said Dave. "Everyone I knew with AIDS was dying. We had a memorial calendar at the HIV centre, and a candle was lit every time someone died. The candle was always lit."
Now Dave considers his illness as a gift in disguise. He came from a "very rich" family, and started a business at a young age. Drug addiction resulted in embezzlement of company funds, so he lost the business, but started another. The same thing happened.
"I'd have been dead of drugs by now if I hadn't gotten AIDS," said Dave.
Dave was hospitalized near death twice, but with the right combination of medications, he is now feeling healthy. He takes a "cocktail" a day - a mix of drugs that he picks up at the local walk-in HIV clinic - DOT for HAART on 93 Street and 104A Avenue. At DOT he receives more than just his prescription medication.
"They offer me a family which I don't have and they offer me inspiration," said Dave. "Everyone gets treated when they are sick, but it's how he or she is treated that's important. DOT is breaking all the rules and a lot of people are envious. It's a very expensive program, but it's treatment everyone should have whether they have AIDS or a heart condition."
At the walk-in clinic patients can have a cup of coffee, or a hot noon meal. Each is given $5 a day or $3 a day and a monthly bus pass as an incentive to stay on treatment. It is very important for HIV patients to be consistent in taking medication to prevent the disease from becoming AIDS. Patients are also educated in prevention to stop the spread of HIV.
Dave said being HIV positive has changed his life in many important ways. Living on borrowed time has given him a new sense of purpose. "When I was diagnosed, I had to confront serious issues inside me. I didn't know how good it is to be one the other side."
Dave is currently working on projects using the skills he acquired while running his businesses. He has developed a website for a project called The Living Quilt, a local quilt to recognize all the people living with HIV.
He is also involved in a global project. He hopes to see the Telus Tower lit with the largest red ribbon in the world for World AIDS Day 2006. To do so, he plans to use 100,000 red lights. He is asking each AIDS service organization to sponsor one red light at a cost of $5 per light.
On AISH for the present, Dave is upgrading his computer skills so he can become self-employed doing contract work. Knowing his weaknesses, he said, "I have an addictive personality. I can be very successful as long as someone else handles the money."
He said he feels destined to help people in need -- illness or no illness - and to encourage the community people to see another view of HIV so the stigma can be lifted. "I've got it good," he says. "I've got good friends and a lot of support."
