Where is your new apartment?

It’s right up near the Argyle stop only one block off the “L” stop there. It’s a small studio and you’ve got your own private bathroom. You’ve got a closet, a full-sized refrigerator, a stove, a regular kitchen sink, kitchen cabinets. And they give you a bed, a dress, a table and two chairs. And the building, I mean, it’s an older building, but it’s been totally rehabbed. So it’s real nice, clean and modern-looking. I really like it a lot. It was way more modern than what I pictured in my mind before I went to see it.

What’s the best part about the building?

They have security there and everything. They run everything first-rate. For example, when the larndlord took me through the apartment, there were some things that weren’t done and some things not painted. And he said, “Why wasn’t this done?” So this was about 2 p.m. and I left to go back to work and when I got back around 7 p.m., everything was taken care of already. So they repainted and fixed whatever and got to it right away.

I notice that your leg is in a brace. What happened?

It was the night of the Super Bowl when I got hit by a car. The game was over and I stopped at this one place to get a sandwich to go. I started to cross the street and I got to the middle of the intersection when a car made a left-hand turn right into me. And the police were really mad at him because he admitted to them that he didn’t see me because he was texting. So I never saw my sandwich again. I broke my left leg and my right knee cap and I was in Rush Hospital for two weeks.

Well, I bet that this new apartment is great now that you’re almost recovered! What do you hope to do with your spare time after you’re settled in?

I used to play sports for several years. I played baseball until I was about 50… I’m thinking about taking up bowling again. When I was a teenager, I was in a bowl league every fall. And I’m a big-time White Sox fan and I get to go to a few games here and there. But I like all sports – well, don’t really care for soccer – but baseball was always my favorite, because I played it for a long time.

By Ethan Ross & Brittany Langmeyer,
StreetWise Editorial Intern & Staff

The Chicago History Museum’s newly opened Ebony Fashion Fair exhibit showcases the legacy of the famous traveling fashion show, its powerful place in African American history, and the woman behind the vision.

Born in 1916 in the southern town of Selma, Ala., Eunice Johnson came from wealthy beginnings. According to a placard at the beginning of the exhibit, her mother was an educator and her father, a surgeon. The family used their means to establish Selma University and the National Baptist Convention.

Upon graduating from Talladega College, Eunice moved to Chicago to continue her education in social work at Loyola University. She eventually met and married Chicago businessman and entrepreneur, John H. Johnson, in the early 1940s. The couple launched Ebony in 1945. Eunice chose the name because of her fondness for the dark wood.

“She was always kind of singular in her experiences,” said Joy Bivins, the exhibit’s curator.

It was this singularity that inspired Eunice the most. With access to the fashion world that few, if any, African American women had, she traveled to Europe every year, met with top designers and paid cash for garments with the intention of showcasing them on black models in Ebony. The goal was to bring the glamour, vision and power of haute couture into African American culture.

Not everyone was quick to accept Eunice’s ambitions. Some designers feared that black women seen wearing their clothes would discourage white women from purchasing them. In time however, her talent prevailed, and as Ebony’s circulation soared, designers began to appreciate the way their work was being photographed throughout the magazine’s pages.

“The designers started to realize that she really had a connoisseur’s eye,” Bivins said.
The Ebony Fashion Fair became an extension of the magazine’s mission and success. Beginning in 1961, the traveling fashion show featured 10 to 12 models and countless designs Eunice had purchased from Christian Dior, Oscar de la Renta, Patrick Kelly, Yves Saint Laurent, Givenchy, and Christian Lacroix. The models journeyed through 90 cities in three months on a Greyhound bus. Stops included segregated cities in the deep South, where models discovered they were not allowed to use the public restrooms and were forced to enter and exit restaurants through the back door.

The 60 garments chosen for the exhibition are representative of the excitement, bold beauty and unwavering confidence of the Fashion Fair. Unlike a typical runway show, models twirled, danced, smiled and were as much the centerpieces of the runway as the clothes.

One placard reads, “African Americans have historically used clothing to signify personal dignity and identity even when both were denied by the larger society, an idea Mrs. Johnson well understood. She believed that attention to one’s entire ensemble – the perfect wrap, hat, and shoes – was essential.”
The show became ideal training ground for young aspiring black models like Pat Cleveland, who was struggling to make it in an industry dominated by white, blue-eyed blondes.

In an on-camera interview displayed in the exhibit, Cleveland underscores the transformative power of Fashion Fair. African American women could finally see for themselves that “there’s something more to life than struggling. There’s glamour, there’s beauty, and you can have it too.”

As her career began to skyrocket, the signature style of the Ebony runway became Cleveland’s trademark. She was soon a favorite among designers like Halston and Emanuel Ungaro, and photographer, Richard Avedon.

Perhaps the most inspirational and moving aspect of the exhibit takes visitors into a replica of the Ebony boardroom, where they are invited to sit at the head of the table and listen to the voice of John Johnson tell the story of Ebony Fashion Fair and its role in a much larger picture. He discusses the establishment of the Johnson Publishing Company, and his determination to change the ways African Americans were depicted in mainstream media.

Ebony Fashion Fair serves as a contribution to the Johnsons’ vision. “Far more than a display of beautiful things” as the exhibit reads, “the show offered black women a vision of what they could wear and, ultimately, who they could be.”

By Lauren Jensik,
StreetWise Contributor

Conceived and directed by Cora Bissett with text by Stef Smith, Roadkill begins on a bus where 20 audience members accompany a young girl, Mary, and her “Auntie” to Mary’s new home. Having just arrived from Nigeria, Mary hopes to learn English and land a good job one day. Staged in a Chicago apartment, the production places the audience directly in the young woman’s world, witnessing in close quarters how her hopes of a new life are suddenly destroyed as she is brutally forced into captivity and the world of sex trafficking.

Roadkill has been met with critical acclaim in Glasgow, Paris, London (2012 Olivier Award) and Edinburgh, where it was the only production in Edinburgh Festival Fringe history to win every major theater award—including the Amnesty Award for Freedom of Expression.

The play comes to Chicago in the midst of a state-wide public awareness campaign aimed at shifting law enforcement’s attention to sex traffickers and people who buy sex, and simultaneously proposing a network of support for survivors of the sex trade. The campaign, End Demand Illinois, advocates that prostituted people be considered victims of human trafficking in need of services, rather than as criminal offenders. On April 12, the Illinois Senate approved and moved legislation (SB 1872) to the Illinois House that would remove felony upgrade status for subsequent prostitution offenses.

Chicago Shakespeare Theater’s limited two-week World’s Stage Series presentation of Roadkill runs May 11–26. Scotland’s Bissett is among more than 600 international artists representing 16 countries with whom the theater has collaborated for the World’s Stage series. A limited number of tickets are on sale now for $45. The production contains adult themes, hard language, depictions of violence and sexually oriented nudity. Roadkill is not recommended for young or sensitive audiences. For more information, please call the CST Box Office at 312.595.5600 or visit www.chicagoshakes.com/roadkill.

Remembering the edition of the StreetWise magazine which dealt with Route 66, I am reminded of a past experience of my life back in May-June of 1956. I was 10 years old. My mother, my older brother, and my two younger sisters were leaving Arcola, Illinois (about 35 miles south of Champaign) to go to Chicago to meet Grandma Carroll (my mother’s mother) who lived in Los Angeles and flew into Chicago to meet us returning from a round-the-world trip. My father, a U.S. Army officer, was then in Korea. We traveled along Route 66 most of the way to Los Angeles, taking a more southernly route when we got further west in New Mexico and Arizona.

During the road trip there was not very much of interest. We stayed at various motels along the way throughout Missouri, Oklahoma, New Mexico, and Arizona. I spent much time looking at the scenery and reading. I recall reading a condensed version of Moby Dick for children. I recall passing a heard of bison (buffalo) in Oklahoma. I recall that my grandmother pointed out that she saw a car with an Alaska license plate!

During the summer we stayed at a rented house in Los Angeles with my grandmother before she moved into a new apartment before we left. We did some very nice things such as going to the beach, to Disneyland, to Marineland (a museum of marine life), a big public fireworks display at the Los Angeles Coliseum, and a big reunion of our large extended family.

In August my father was transferred from Seoul, the capital of South Korea, to Tokyo, the capital of Japan. In September we drove from Los Angeles to San Francisco to sail to Japan to meet my father. We were initiated when we crossed the International Date Line. At this time a practical joke was played on us. We were told that on a certain date the ship would be stopped and rowboats would be put out in the ocean so we could go swimming. That was the date that was skipped when we lost a day crossing the International Date Line.

For most of the trip the weather was peaceful. But just toward the end, the sea was rough when we went through the edge of Typhoon Harriet. The same typhoon hit Tokyo after we landed but it mainly brought a lot of rain; later there was an earthquake in Tokyo shortly after we arrived, but luckily it was only a minor one. Coincidentally, I saw the movie Moby Dick at the post theatre.

We returned from Japan in May 1958. This time there were two more people. My father was there, and another sister of mine who was born in Japan. The ship took the northern route as it docked in Seattle. The weather was chilly and rainy much of the way. After we docked in Seattle, it was a long trip until we would reach the place my father would be stationed (San Marcos, Texas, around 30 miles south of Austin). Along the way we were again able to see my grandmother and other relatives in California. Incidentally, my grandmother got over to Japan to see us in February of 1957 through her job as a travel agent.

Fifty years later, I made a return trip to Japan during January and February before my retirement from full-time work in 2006. When I lived in Japan from September 1956 through May 1958, I was only in and near Tokyo. My return trip included Tokyo, Kyoto, and Hiroshima. It was interesting to see how Tokyo had gone from modern to ultra-modern, now having skyscrapers, because modern architecture is more quake-resistant. Kyoto, the Florence of Asia, is the only major city in Japan not attacked by Allied bombers during World War II and is still Japan’s center of culture. Hiroshima, after being hit by the atom bomb, has made a marvelous recovery and one would never know that the city had been hit except for the Atom Bomb Dome which has been preserved as a reminder. The Atom Bomb Dome is at the edge of the Peace Park. The Peace Park is very beautiful and the beauty was enhanced the day I went there by a fall of snow which stuck to trees and bushes.

By James Metzgar,
StreetWIse Vendor

The portable, role-up Backpack Bed™, created and distributed through Australian-based charity Swags for Homelessness, was awarded a national Edison Award in the social impact category at the Edison Awards Gala 2013 on April 25. Named after inventor Thomas Alva Edison, the namesake awards recognize innovative new products. They are judged by over 3,000 senior business executives and academics throughout the US on the criteria of “concept, value, delivery and impact,” according to a press release.

Tony and Lisa Clark, who founded Swags, created the Backpack Bed in 2011, when it also won the Australian Human Rights Award for Best Community Organization. They have been used by over 200 Australian agencies and launched in New Zealand, the UK and Germany.

Australian agencies raised the money for 40 Backpack Beds to be distributed to Chicago agencies. On April 24, Clark rode with The Night Ministry in Uptown and distributed the first of these donations. He demonstrated their ease of use and storage capacity. Another 100 backpack beds will be distributed throughout New York, New Jersey, Baltimore and Washington.

“It’s a sharing thing,” Tony Clark said in a telephone interview. “Homelessness is a crisis all over the world and we’ve got to work together.”

The Backpack Bed has been given to people who are turned away from shelters that are full, which Clark said returns dignity to the homeless people. “It’s reversing the attitude of ‘you’re homeless. You should be happy with whatever you get.’

“We want to make a connection,” he said. “If you’re typically at a shelter, and you’re turned away empty-handed, it causes emotional stress. Most agencies don’t have a choice. They’ll just say, ‘come back tomorrow.’ But if someone gives them the Backpack Bed, that homeless person goes, ‘Wow, you actually do care. I understand the shelter is full, but at least they haven’t left me in the dark, in the cold.’ ”
Practicality is also a factor. While many agencies may give out blankets to people they cannot shelter, these items do not protect the people as well as the Backpack Bed, which is made to European standards in China by an accredited factory that also makes items for the UN and Salvation Army.

Even in Australia, people “sleeping rough” outdoors suffer as much as a 20 percent death rate from hypothermia, Clark said. “That is Australia and we don’t even have snow. So I can only imagine the devastation on the streets of Chicago. When you’re cold you’ll do anything, just trying to survive.”
Each bag is stamped “not for resale” on the inside but a homeless recipient “holds onto it like gold,” he said.

The Backpack Bed has a 6-foot-2-inch built-in-mattress and is waterproof, windproof, fire retardant and mildew resistant. The seams are tape-sealed and the zippers are also water-resistant. The internal pocket includes a padlock to improve personal security on the streets. While rolled out, the backpack portion can protect shoes and other belongings from the weather.

The bed has a flap that can be turned into an A-Frame or an enclosed shelter when attached to a bench or tree. It’s suitable for cold and warm weather alike with a ventilation system. A tropical version is available with additional features on the same design such as a full-body mosquito mesh.

The backpack itself weighs 6 pounds, 4 ounces and its pockets can carry up to 44 pounds. It is also designed for easy use regardless of physical or mental disability. Because it looks like a backpack rather than loose bedding, it retains more dignity for the homeless person, officials said in prepared material.
The backpack is also sold online ($68 original and $79 for tropical) through Swags’ website where all profits go to support homeless service providers.

The portable beds do not mean a resignation to homelessness, Clark said. “It is an interim crisis measure.”
“It’s a very clever design to help people living on the street,” said Edward Shurna, executive director of the Chicago Coalition for the Homeless. “No one should be on the street in the richest country, but for those who are on the street, the Backpack Bed is a life saver.”

By Ethan Ross,
StreetWise Editorial Intern

“She’s awesome. She’s beautiful. She’s an angel. She’s a miracle, almost 14 pounds, 22 inches long. She has blue eyes, a smile and one dimple on the left side.”

Jill, who is 38 and Caucasian, came to the jail at 2750 S. California Ave. for the first time in November. A former restaurant worker, she says she made bad choices and hung out with the wrong crowd. Jill did not know that she was first-time pregnant, but tests upon entry showed she was 6½ months along, so she was admitted to Division XVII of the Cook County Sheriff’s Women’s Justice Programs (SWJP).

While in the Division XVII women’s residential program, Jill took classes in child delivery, labor and parenting before her 36 hours of labor in Cook County Hospital. There were two officers outside her room and one inside.

“The whole process was a lot better than I overall expected it to be, not to be chained and shackled. I delivered a beautiful, healthy girl, 7 pounds, 3 ounces,” Jill said. “She saved my life. I was doing drugs before.”

Keisha,* who is 30 and African-American, has a son born just over a month ago in the back seat of a car on the way to the hospital. He has remained hospitalized after heart surgery and she entered Division XVII.

Although both women will spend Mother’s Day with the 163 women in the minimum- and medium-security division, Jill said they are not going to be sad. They will sit around and make tamales, burritos or tuna wraps and watch DVD movies with the 58 women on their dorm-like tier, which has doorways but not bars. They may even have their hair done, because most of the women do hair very well and half of them have their beauticians’ license, Keisha said.

The priority for both women is regaining custody of their children after their trials and possible extended incarceration. Because she was within six weeks postpartum, Keisha qualified for Division XVII. She said she begged to enter it because of the chance to take classes – anger management, trauma, therapy – that would qualify her for contact visits with her child. At other times, if she feels sad about her son, she said she can pull someone over and they will find a therapist for her to talk to.

“A lot of girls in Division IV would love to be in Division XVII,” Keisha said. The alternative division houses 700 women who may have jobs outside their tier but whose visits with their children are through Plexiglas.

The more comprehensive Division XVII was originally started in 1999, said Division XVII Supt. Kelly Baker. It is the first such county program in Illinois and the vision is to expand it by another 200 women, Baker said.

Jill has been taking infant development classes and participating in Narcotics Anonymous classes, which has qualified her for alternate Tuesday contact visits with her daughter, who is staying with a north suburban family. Jill is past the six-week postpartum, but her judge ordered her to stay so she could continue treatment, classes, individual therapy and contact visits with her daughter.

Division XVII Supt. Kelly Baker of the Cook County Sheriff’s Women’s Justice Programs in the Bright Spaces’ visiting room

“The main concern is having that contact visit, being able to have that bond with our children, especially from newborn in the hospital through the growing process,” Jill said. “I don’t know if I will be sent downstate [to prison] or if I will stay here. But it is nice to establish that bonding experience with your child while you are incarcerated.”

In between, she sends notes and even a drawing at Easter; the family in turn sends her photos of Ashley. She keeps all of this correspondence and a record of her classes in a logbook, which is recommended by Chicago Legal Advocacy for Incarcerated Mothers (CLAIM) so that women can document their attempts to maintain contact with their children as they attempt to regain custody later.

Keisha likewise sends small letters and pictures and keeps a notebook to the best of her ability: she cannot read and write well.

“I was bounced around from foster home to foster home,” Keisha said. “People did not take the time. They was like, ‘She’s OK, she’s a foster child. Just get this money.’”

Keisha’s mother had died at age 24, and she was the youngest of four children. Her aunt died at the same time, leaving nine children, all of whom went to their grandmother, who did the best she could, Keisha said.

“Even though I cannot read or write that well, a person would not know it because I articulate my words,” Keisha said. “My grandma taught me how to fake it ’til you make it. I was in [Illinois] DCFS [Department of Children and Family Services] and I signed myself out at 16, got out of the system. I found my apartment, started doing different things. I did go to work for a little while but worked in the sex industry because the money is very well. I never did drugs but I started selling drugs at 25. It’s just your choices, it’s not the poverty. You can be in a good neighborhood and it’s just different things you might go through on a daily basis.”

Jill agreed. “Our tier is the ‘house of growth.’ We focus on growing, changing, everything very positive. Some of the officers offer inspirational advice like an aunt or a sister. Some are disciplinary. Some women act out. There are all sorts of different women, from horrible abusive family backgrounds to having everything you wanted growing up.”

Keisha has a caseworker who makes additional phone calls to check up on her son’s condition. She has been clean for three years and is learning how to stick to a routine. “I am just keeping God first and being more focused on my treatment. I am really trying to work on my behavior because my behavior got me here. I need to get my anger under control, be more humble.”
Jill ultimately hopes to be released to the SWJP’s Empowerment Center, which offers evidence-based mental health services and linkages to community-based agencies to women exiting the jail.

Still other facets of the Cook County SWJP are a furlough program that combines electronic monitoring with Monday through Friday reporting for its first two phases, followed by two more phases that allow work, trauma groups or 12-step programs in tandem with random drug testing. Off-site, the MOM’S program in the Haymarket Center in the West Loop provides 24 beds for pregnant women and mothers of small children.

The Bright Spaces program at Division XVII, along with the Haymarket MOM’S program and the 16 slots at the Women’s Treatment Center in the West Loop for women remanded to the Illinois Department of Corrections (IDOC) after conviction along with their babies are all examples of programs that need massive expansion, said Gail Smith, an attorney and senior policy director at CLAIM. There should be another 2,000 residential and day program slots, Smith said.

That’s because more than 4 out of 5 women (82.5 percent) incarcerated in Illinois are mothers; the majority are their children’s only caretakers, Smith said. When these mothers are in county jails awaiting trial or in prison after conviction, about 20% of their children are placed in foster care.

Yet if a child is in foster care for 15 of 22 months, the state must move to terminate the mother’s parental rights, which means she will no longer be entitled to visits or phone calls — almost as if she never existed. That’s because since 1997, the federal Adoption and Safe Families Act has encouraged quick termination of parental rights so that children can receive a permanent home, she added.

Entrance to Division XVII shows inspirational posters in its windows

A better method, she said, is to keep families together to address the root causes of the mother’s offense, since almost all CLAIM clients have suffered multiple trauma, from sexual abuse as kids to domestic violence, both of which can lead to drug addiction. They need trauma-informed treatment.

That’s why CLAIM’s “Reunite Moms and Kids Campaign” has two goals:
**ensuring that women who remain in prison have the resources to maintain bonds with their children, address the problems that led them to prison, and upon release, reunite with their families to become self-supporting community members.

**releasing women convicted of nonviolent offenses to the community or sending them home on electronic monitors so they can live with their kids. More than 16,000 women go to jail annually in Cook County annually and about 82 percent are mothers, according to a CLAIM fact sheet; about 80 percent of detainees at Cook County Jail are charged with non-violent crimes, CLAIM officials say. Within IDOC, 63 percent of women are serving time for nonviolent crimes such as property (30.2 percent) and drug (32.8 percent) offenses.

“Being a mother is about making 100 decisions a day: do you enroll in Sunday school, what religion are you raising your child, does your child need to see a doctor,” Smith said. When a woman is removed from that role, her lifestyle skills break down.

“By sentencing them to prison we are making it more likely, not less likely they will commit another crime because we are taking away the skills they have and breaking down their family relationships,” she said.

Smith provided the written testimony of former colleague Joanne Archibald before the Illinois House Youth and Family Committee in 2009. Archibald described a mother who was admitted to a mother-infant care program in San Francisco, yet considered giving her baby to her mother because of the difficulty of the required programming.

Gail Smith, Senior Policy Director at CLAIM

Smith argues also for the emotional wellbeing of the children, from toddlers to teens.

“Children under age 6 suffer more greatly when Mom goes away,” Smith said. “At age 5 or 6 when kids go off to kindergarten and first grade, they are starting their relationship with the larger world. Up until then, their level of dependency is much greater and they are still forming their psychological identity. If you separate the mother and child before that, you are almost always doing some irreparable damage.”

Smith told the same Illinois House committee hearing in 2009 that CLAIM had phone calls from hospital social workers because toddlers whose mothers were incarcerated refused to eat and were dehydrated. “Physical contact with their mothers is the most important and quickest way to reassure them.”

Angela is another example. She is a CLAIM client who was incarcerated for 18 months at Dwight, a 90-minute drive from Chicago, and at Decatur, three hours away. Angela’s mother cared for three of her four children, but since her mom did not want to bring them to a prison setting Angela did not see them the whole time, she said in a telephone interview.

Her two sons are doing well now in school and say “Mom, I’m never going to jail, I’m never going to do anything wrong, I think people who sell drugs are stupid.” However, Angela’s youngest daughter is struggling with school and she attributes it to abandonment issues.

It’s normal for teenagers to be outrageous, said Smith, who raised her own niece from age 14 to 17, “because they are mapping their own territory of how they are not you.” When they are with their own mother, “they weather the storm because their mother fell in love with them when they were 1 and 2 years old.”

But grief in children looks like anger, she said, and that can be expected if they are dealing with missing mothers and feeling their stigma of incarceration. “We have clients who don’t know where their kids are living, because the teen felt mistreated and ran away or the relative kicked the kid out, said ‘I don’t have to deal with this.’ ”

Sonovia Petty, 39, is coordinator and Sylvia Begay, 45, is a member of CLAIM’s Visible Voices speaking group in support of its platform for trauma-informed therapy that gets to the root of family issues. Both have children who have become homeless because of broken maternal bonds.

Petty never lived with her mother but with her aunt and her grandmother, who became her legal guardian until she became ill.

“I was running the whole household at age 11 and had two kids by age 16. I went to go be an emancipated minor but instead of helping me, they took my kids and put them into the system. Then they put me in a group home. I had a nervous breakdown.”

The stress between Petty’s mother and grandmother trickled down so that she was not shown love. She did learn survival skills, although she only went through ninth grade. “Their way of surviving was bootleg. My way of surviving was selling drugs, retail theft. They didn’t instill how to live and I fell through the cracks. I was a product of my community.”

Petty’s kids age 23, 20 and 19 were all adopted out; the 20-year-old daughter’s parents let her reach out to Petty two years ago and the 19-year-old did so last year, two weeks before turning 18. Petty’s 11-year-old stays with an uncle and she has custody of her 6- and 8-year-old sons. Petty can’t find her 23-year-old but she has been able to stay in touch with her 25-year-old, thanks to a doctor who sought her out during a mental health crisis when the boy was 10.

She now works part-time for CLAIM while she takes classes for medical billing and coding. She formerly worked for the Chicago Coalition for the Homeless and still serves on its Reentry Committee after time in downstate prisons. Last year, this committee urged the Chicago Housing Authority to adopt less restrictive policies toward formerly incarcerated people, similar to what Los Angeles and Seattle have done.

Begay grew up in Robert Taylor Homes but her mother had the work ethic to get good jobs and move to South Shore. Still, “She didn’t show affection [and] when you don’t know who you are relationally, you look for love in all the wrong places. I began to copycat the domestic violence I saw.”

As a result, Begay wound up serving 7½ years of an eight-year sentence for armed violence against her one-time fiancé, a police officer. She earned a master’s degree in Christian ministries, a doctorate in Christian counseling and was released January 9.

Begay has a son, 27; a daughter, 23; boy and girl twins age 20 and an 8-year-old daughter. She began fighting the case 11 years ago before serving time at Dwight, Decatur and Lincoln (which is also a three-hour drive). She says her sons took her situation the hardest. The 27-year-old and the 20-year-old are homeless: “wherever they can lay their heads. They may have a place to stay this week but next week fend for themselves.”

The 20-year-old was involved with street gangs and some offenses but Begay is working with him to get him stable housing, even as she herself is in an interim housing program.

Sonovia Petty (left) and Sylvia Begay

“Women in prison, being on the inside but also respected by their peers, each person knew how to work,” Begay said. “They were diligent about completing their assignments. They can clean a commode for $14.40 a month, so they would be willing to work for $14.40 an hour. They just need a stable place to live, a job and counseling.”

Petty added, “We can create all the job programs we want but if we don’t educate employers that we are hard workers, we paid our debt, this cycle is going to continue. Me and Sylvia are going to teach them to lean on God.”

By Suzanne Hanney,
StreetWise Editor-In-Chief

* Bright Spaces names have been changed.

CLAIM will host its Mother’s Day rally in support of keeping families together at noon Friday, May 10 at the James R. Thompson Center, 100 W. Randolph St. For more information, call CLAIM at 312.675.0912, x 14 or email SPetty@claim-il.org or Gail@claim.org.

- Ethan Ross contributing

ZOE KOLON, social work intern at StreetWise, said: “After working with StreetWise, it’s not a black and white issue. It’s complicated. You can’t judge someone because they are homeless. Everyone has a different story and past. It is a complex issue that is not so easily understood. Homelessness is a lack of safety and security, a loss of basic survival needs. These are some of the most vulnerable people, but they are also incredibly resilient and have incredible strength. We can learn a lot from them, if we take the time to stop and listen.”

DARVIN CHAMBLISS, my husband, said: “Some people are homeless, because they choose to be. Others because they don’t have social skills, mental problems are a big issue, along with drugs and alcohol, acts of God.

Some become homeless at no fault of their own, such as myself.

Our apartment building was set on fire by someone. We didn’t find out until we arrived in Chicago.

I prayed and put the situation in God’s hands and He pulled us through.

You have to have faith and believe and trust that all things will work out, which they did.

You can’t give up, you have to put one foot in front of the other.

I was fortunate that I had military skills that I was able to use and come through victoriously, along with the help of good friends who were there at the drop of a dime.

These individuals are lifelong friends and with their help, we were able to help others keep their faith strong.

It was a long three months but in the end, it all worked out.

StreetWise was very helpful, providing us with hot meals, use of telephones and computers, and also a warm place during the day. Much love to Greg and Patrick, Ron and Jim. May God bless you.”

SARAH BROWN, StreetWise Managing Director of Programs, said: “A common misconception of homelessness is that it stems from substance abuse and/or mental health issues. In Chicago the largest group of people experiencing homelessness are actually children, with the second largest group being women. Often domestic violence or lack of living wage jobs exacerbate homelessness. Almost always at the foundation of homelessness is poverty and an unequal distribution of resources within society, rather than substance abuse or mental health.”

CHRIS JESSUP, aide to Ald. James Cappleman (46th ward), said: “When I think of homelessness, I think of struggles of individuals and families dealing with homelessness. I think of struggles with the economy, with employment, with drugs and alcohol addictions. I think of people’s struggles getting mental health and other medical services. I think of the hurdles and barriers individuals face when they attempt to retrieve birth certificates, state IDs, Social Security cards and other documents.

I think of our communities struggling to address homelessness, addiction, mental health, and unemployment. I think of failed plans, bad services, and misunderstandings. I think of the most diverse population: homelessness affects everyone.”

Darvin Chambliss (left) and Elizabeth Ball-Crudup

We found out when we arrived the following day, which was a Thursday.

We had to make do and that’s just what we did. He couldn’t take the job because he didn’t want to leave me alone on the streets. I have epilepsy and he was more concerned with my well being than his own.

So we had to venture out and put our trust in God.

Here we were in Chicago, homeless, we had each other; but most important, we had God on our side.

We asked questions, went to different agencies and received no help, no information.

We prayed and asked God to keep us safe from harm and all things that were not of Him.

On Friday, we decided to go to the park on the lakefront in Uptown. We met a couple there who gave us information. But we had already tried the information that they had given us: to go to the City of Chicago Department of Family and Support Services (DFSS), to try a shelter in Uptown that was for women-only or to go to Pacific Garden Mission (This long-time South Loop shelter has separate sections for men and women.).

We put one foot in front of the other and did our own thing, with God on our side.

For the most part, the agencies don’t help, or they don’t want to help. Their idea of assisting you with things you need is referring you to another agency, and they refer you to another and so on.

The answers we received were: we can’t help. Or the help they offered was to send him (my husband) to one side of town, me to the other. This wasn’t happening. Because of my seizures, my husband refused for us to be separated.

The love we have for each other is so strong. I love that in him, wanting to care for me himself, keeping me close to him, and safe.

They told us to go to a hospital and have them call 311. We did, they never showed up. We were at the hospital until 6:30 a.m. the next morning when we left. The next evening we slept in the park. No fun.

But we never gave up. We kept pushing forward.

Our first Sunday in Chicago, we were standing at Wilson Avenue and Sheridan Road with our suitcases just as an usher was about to close the door for 10:30 a.m. services at Uptown Baptist Church. “My brother and sister, are you coming in?” he said with a welcoming smile.

Darvin and I stood for a minute and then decided to go in. I began attending weekly services while Darvin watched our things. I explained our situation to Pastor Michael Allen and he mentioned the bridge several times in his sermons. UBC members became curious and started to visit.

UBC already gives to the community with open arms through Sarah’s Circle, its women’s day center that provides case management, meals, laundry and computers as well as nighttime shelter. On Monday nights, the church also feeds the community. Darvin and I ate there a few times.

There is a reason we were there: we now have a real church, a real God and belong to a real world that is helping others in their time of need. To our church, we say thank you.

We used our knowledge, Darvin used his military skills and we survived, cold nights, rainy nights, and snowy nights, every step of the way with God on our side. He was stationed in Germany while in the Army from 1982 to 1984.

He built me a cardboard box home about 3 feet by 6 feet from what he found in dumpsters. We laid a four-inch thick base on the ground and put our blankets on top. At night he would stay up and let me sleep.

We became a part of a sometimes-overlooked community at the Wilson Avenue bridge over Lake Shore Drive.

The city would come by without warning, take everyone’s belongings and throw them away. The worst thing is that when they did this, they took all that we had brought with us.

So we had to regroup and get other things, just like starting over again with nothing.

We did just that and survived. The day they did that, I cried, thinking, “God, what are we going to do?”

People told us that sometimes they sleep under the bridge. We figured, “what do we have to lose?” So we went for it.

We slept there at times (a lot). Wherever we went, we took our belongings with us. We got suitcases with wheels. Then we were able to get a month-by-month storage unit in Uptown. Every morning we would get up around 7 a.m., pack our things and take them to our storage unit. In the evening we would go back to our storage unit and bring them back to the bridge. We did this every day for about two months.

The individuals we met would actually listen to us, and that made things a lot easier, knowing someone cared.

We met many people who walked under the bridge going to the lake. Eventually they got to the point where they would stop and talk to us so that they got to know us. One man who lives in Rogers Park pulled his car around after seeing our group under the bridge. His family invited us for Thanksgiving dinner and when he dropped us off again that night, he had given us enough plates for everyone else under the bridge – about 10 persons that night. We still see him on a weekly basis.

We didn’t want their money, just their understanding of what was really going on. All in all, we learned that although we were under the bridge, we were doing better than those who had their own housing because first of all, we have each other and most importantly, we have God.

Darvin and I at the center of a photo with Loyola Academy students and Prof. Trevor Clark, third from left in back row.

One of the Loyola students painted a picture of Darvin and me and exhibited it in the senior students’ art show. Another student brought his mom and dad and his two younger brothers to meet Darvin and me on Christmas Eve; one girl brought her mom down to meet me on Christmas morning.

Darvin and I at the Loyola Academy senior art show on Valentine’s Day at Northwestern University with my portrait in the center above our heads.

All Christmas morning and into the afternoon, it was snowing really hard. About 1 p.m., my husband said, “This is it.”

He made a couple of phone calls and another married couple told us to pack up our things, they were coming for us. We spent Christmas night at their house and they have since helped us with a hotel. These friends had come under the bridge on a regular basis to see us; the lady would talk to us for hours at a time.

She had told me that she had always admired us. She would see us out walking and under the bridge at night, always together. Other times she would see us helping others with the food we had gotten.

I told one of the women under the bridge that we would be back. She responded that everybody says that. But I told her: “We are not everybody. We are Elizabeth and Darvin.”

When we returned to the bridge two days later, the same lady and 10 or so other people were actually surprised. And they asked us this question: “Why are you guys back under here?”

Our answer was: “We could not forget where we had come from. We spent almost three months with you all. And we are here to pass our blessings on. We were blessed, so why can’t we give back.” We had socks, gloves, food, hand warmers, blankets, all from neighborhood stores courtesy of the couple who helped us.

We look at it like this: If God is for us, then who can be against us?

We were taken up to StreetWise in October by Chris Jessup (an aide to Ald. James Cappleman, 46th ward), who had come down to the bridge during one of the sweeps. I made a point of introducing myself to Chris and he gave me his card, as he did to the rest of the people under the bridge. He told us to come to his office at 1 p.m. that same day but Darvin and I were the only ones who did.

Chris connected Darvin to the Jesse Brown Veterans Administration Medical Center and paved the way with other social service agencies that previously said they had been unable to help us. Even the alderman knows us now and waves to us on the street.

The same day, Chris took us upstairs from the alderman’s office to StreetWise. He introduced us to Greg Pritchett, director of distribution and vendor services and Patrick O’Connor, director of workforce development. StreetWise has become a very important part of our lives.

StreetWise has been very supportive and we would like to give a very big “thanks” to StreetWise. For without it, some of our success would not have been possible. So again, we say “thanks.”

First of all, we got love. The people welcomed us. When you are homeless, you go to different places and people look at you differently. But StreetWise helped us out with coats, hats and gloves and allowed us to come in during those cold days, be warm, use a computer, eat and then sell the paper.

We both sold the paper for about a month because we were both given free papers at vendor orientation. We bought essentials like toothpaste and deodorant with my money and magazines with his. But at that time, we were still hauling our suitcases. We walked from Uptown to our sales sites around Clark and Barry and back again. Darvin has been looking for a job since we moved into the hotel, but most of them are way out, so that transportation is a problem. I have applied for disability, which is pending.

In February, I had surgery in the Cook County hospital system through Heartland Health Alliance. Chris had also referred me there but it took two months to get an appointment. Doctors there said that constant hauling and lifting a suitcase was the cause.

I know deep down in my heart that as long as there are people under the bridge, I will always go back just to say hello.

The day we left the bridge, my husband said that there really is a God and that he is a true believer.

It’s like when you are a child with your parents and they hold your hand when you cross the street. God took our hand and has never let us go.

All in all, the most remarkable thing of all, is being called a “love story.” That is what some people call my husband and I.

My husband to me is incredible. Staying up most nights, watching over me while I slept, and keeping me safe.
I love him, I love him, I love him.

The Bridge

The most important thing to remember is that there are people still under the bridge. To some, the bridge is what they call home. They sleep, eat, and keep their belongings there.

The bridge consists of all kinds of individuals, all who have a story to tell, waiting for someone to listen.

Some people feel that if they take food to people under the bridge, they can feel good about themselves. I am not saying the people under the bridge don’t appreciate it (they do), but one of the most important things they need is someone to listen. I chose to listen and learn.

When my husband and I go to the bridge, we are greeted with hugs and kisses, love and smiles. They gave us strength and hope.

Sometimes we spend hours under the bridge, talking, laughing, and letting them know that we care, that we haven’t forgotten them. Ron, sales manager at StreetWise, and Russell, a vendor who also does maintenance, made sure that we could take leftover food from the daily meals at StreetWise to people at the bridge rather than throw it away.

People at the bridge make sure everyone eats. If one person has it, they all have it. That’s what makes them special to me. They care about each other. You have to understand and to understand is to know.

I wrote this story with the assurance that it would be printed the way it really is under the bridge. I didn’t want to sugarcoat the situation, because it is what it is.

I can say this: that when we were there it was a little more structured. Because we were a husband and wife, the others looked up to us. Usually, a crisis of this nature would destroy a couple.

For some, homelessness is a tremendous ordeal. Others grin and bear it. Because if they complain, who will listen? And sometimes it makes it harder on them.

The City harasses them a lot. So most of the time, nothing is said.

If I had the opportunity, financing and backup, no one would be there.

One has to be careful what is said because sometimes, things are better left alone. But I can’t go on and not speak on it: sometimes bridge people are unfairly accused of accosting people who walk by.

The last thing that I want to do is cause them more problems. But if they don’t have a voice, what is it to write about it and not speak on it?

When we visited the bridge on March 5, there were 12 people sleeping there in the cold.

Some of them had wet blankets, because the ceiling was leaking. Others were trying to stay dry, moving from one spot to another, avoiding the drops from the bridge.

Bob, for example, is a white gentleman in his 50s who has been homeless off and on but never gives up. He had been caretaker for his mother. He says that he just deals with his situation and maybe soon, things will change. The Wilson overpass is his favorite spot among others along the north lakefront “because everybody here loves everybody,” he told me.

A white woman in her 50s has been homeless for almost two years. She panhandled on Michigan Avenue and had been to numerous agencies, although she also missed appointments. When I spoke to her on March 18, she was set to get the keys to her own apartment at 1:30 p.m. God worked it out; she is now housed.

Jerry kneels with a woman resident of the bridge.

On March 16, police went down just before dark and made everyone leave. They threatened them with arrest the next day.

On March 18, I told Darvin I was going to the bridge to finish up this report and no one was there. I saw Jerry about 1½ blocks ahead of me. I followed him to the park south of the bridge under the shelter. There I found five people from under the bridge and I just cried, but I couldn’t leave without doing something for Jerry, so I told him to come with me. My husband and I worked for about two hours to get him into a shelter; it worked out good. Jerry is no longer in the cold, thanks to info from StreetWise. The most amazing thing is that the staff at the shelter asked me if I was his case manager. I told them I was from StreetWise. They said I was an inspiration.

The next day, I went to check on him and they were exactly surprised, they said, “you even do follow up.” They said that doesn’t happen when someone brings a person to a shelter, that’s it. They bring them and just drop them off and they don’t check on the person. I left my phone number and told them they could always call if they needed me.

I must say that I impressed myself on that day with the people skills I showed. It was something that needed to be done, and we were not leaving until I knew he was safe and would be out of the cold.

There are many others I could speak about. Knowing Jerry is great. I know for sure that day we did God’s will.

Also on March 18, I found out that one of the individuals who called the bridge his home passed away over the weekend. He had a heart attack.

Jack marches in a March 6 rally for cubicle hotels outside Ald. James Cappleman’s office.

I remember many times when my husband and I would take them food. He would always say to us, “God bless you” and that he appreciated us.

The last time I saw Jack was on the March 6 protest in front of Ald. Cappleman’s office regarding the cubicle hotels. I took his picture, not knowing it would be the last time I would see him alive.

I consider it a huge blessing from God to have seen him that day. May he rest in peace. He has no more pain.

Ramiro, left, Jose and another woman resident under the bridge.

As I write this real-life drama, I wonder what is the next move?

It’s kind of hard sometimes to move around, because eight out of 10 times, you have your belongings with you.

We are blessed because we carry ourselves with pride and respect, letting no one bring us down to their level.

People seem to forget that on any given day, this could be them.

It’s not what you do but how you do it. Whatever you do in life, you must be kind and considerate to others.

I used to often wonder what homeless looks like. There is no single face. I know now.

It could be the man across the street wearing a $1,000 suit or the person who works in your office with you. Just because you see a person with bags doesn’t always mean they are homeless. They may be going through transition.

So I ask everyone who reads this story to ask themselves this question. Looks can be deceiving and most times are!

We are not the judge or jury. We should love each other and respect one another.

I just wish that I could take all of their pain away, by helping them.

I do whatever I can for people. I want to be that person that if you need help crossing the street, I will help you, just because I am supposed to in God’s eyes.

My husband and I were able to build the trust that others have in us because we are true believers and go-getters. We have learned that the love we share with others is appreciated. We walk down the street and people know us. Places we go, we are greeted wholeheartedly. Another important thing to remember is: when you give, you receive.

We do this because we love our lives. We love all God’s creation.

But my husband tells me often that I can’t save the world. I just want everyone to have an opportunity to live life to the fullest. Remembering that we are all God’s people and no one is above him.

So I ask that as you read their stories, don’t judge. As they say at StreetWise, “Give a hand up, not a hand out.”

By Elizabeth Ball-Crudup
StreetWise Vendor & Contributor

Editor’s note: Elizabeth Ball-Crudup wrote this story and shot these photos of her experiences at the suggestion of Greg Pritchett, StreetWise director of distribution and vendor services. Editor Suzanne Hanney proofread it with her and urged further details.

The Chicago Alliance Against Sexual Exploitation (CAASE), the lead agency for EDI, works to relieve communities from all forms of sexual exploitation through prevention, policy reform, community engagement and legal services. In a press release, the CAASE expressed its support for the removal of the felony upgrade calling the old situation “expensive and ineffective.” Illinois is one of only eight states to keep prostitution a felony, CAASE said.

Furthermore, CAASE says the felony charge is unfair because people who purchase services from prostitutes rarely receive similar charges. The felony “patronizing a prostitute” charge has had less than 10 convictions since its adoption in 2010. Last year Illinois arrested 1,875 people for prostitution and only 95 for the misdemeanor charge of solicitation. This disproportionately penalized women over men.

Many prostitutes face “chronic homelessness, mental health or substance abuse issues, and engage in prostitution for basic necessities such as food and shelter,” according to an EDI fact sheet. Human trafficking is also a large contributor to the issue so that many prostitution defendants are victims, not criminals, CAASE officials said.

Ill. Sen. William Haine (D-Alton) said that he hopes this bill will inspire state law enforcement to shift its focus from criminalizing victims of trafficking and exploitation to bringing the traffickers themselves to justice. “Evil-doers are those who exploit,” Haine said at a hearing according to CAASE prepared materials.

CAASE says that felony status is not slowing current rates of prostitution, although it does hinder a formerly incarcerated person’s chances for finding sustainable employment. Ill. Sen. Dale Righter (R-Mattoon) said he was convinced during the hearing when he heard a woman tell her story of being unable to find employment because of her felony status. Lack of alternatives can thus push women back into prostitution.

“If we want to stop the cycle of sexual exploitation in Illinois, we must offer survivors of the sex trade the support and services they need to start over,” said Ill. Sen. Toi Hutchinson (D-Chicago Heights).

The cost of the felony option was another factor in consideration of the change. In 2012, over $2 million was spent on 127 Illinois felony prosecutions and between $5.3 and $9.5 million was spent by the Cook County Department of Corrections on pretrial detention.

Only seven other states maintain felony options for prostitution convictions: Arizona, Florida, Idaho, Indiana, Michigan, Missouri and Texas.

By Ethan Ross
From Prepared Materials