I did a short article on homeless people for the alligator newspaper. I'm not sure what they are going to use as far as the length of the first draft so I'm posting the whole thing here. I met so many people doing the homeless photo documentary, (listed below and on my website with captions --FARFANPHOTO.COM--), that I feel it's unfair to do it on just one person but that is how the paper did it. It was a last minute thing. So sorry for my sloppiness.

Draft on homelessness:

They describe themselves as more than a group or a community.

They are a family and a mixture of circumstances. They are friends, partners and lovers.

They are souls that if enough time spent with them, even the well off will feel jealousy. They don’t go home to an empty apartment or have coffee by themselves. They say they will never walk the roads alone, they will always have one another and they will always relate because in life anyone can have the same fate.

Each morning they hold hands and laugh. Again and forever they could see each other and react as if it was the first time in a while, because they are glad to see another day to keep each other company.

Wade Broestler:

Among the crowd that stands one man with a cane sits. They wait for food outside a church in downtown Gainesville. He waits for his family to forgive him and for his monthly disability check.

Broestler was handicapped after a construction accident that injured his left leg early in the year in 1989. In the summer of that same year he was assaulted and a blow to his head gave him right-side brain injury, limiting his control over the left side of his body.

“I have a habit and my family don’t like it,” Broestler said. “I smoke, they don’t like the smell and they made me choose.”

Leaving three sons and one daughter, Broestler only carries what he can only replace, a few things in a black bag, a yellow mat and his cigarettes. “There is not one day I don’t think about them,” Broestler said.

FIN

I want to elaborate on the section of the draft where it describes the homeless as never being alone and so happy. The descriptions I use are the reasons why I kept doing the project. I found the good in their lives and focused on that. I did feel sad to see people sleep in the street and argue, sometimes even threaten me, but I also saw them laugh, joke around and test each others patience, just like any family member would do.

With time they learn everything about each other and get as close as any sibling may be. I figured the only way for me to stick around was to stop worrying and to focus on the positive.

To be honest I was ready to quit in the first two weeks into the project because the stress was overwhelming and the aggressiveness toward the camera and me made me think I was never going to accomplish this. It was getting to me, their living conditions and some ask for money everyday and I couldn't help them with that. I didn't like the feeling but I knew I had to do it.

So after being turned down from taking pictures over and over, one person took me in. At first this one guy, whose name I can't mention, he didn’t want to be in the story but he showed me around and introduced me to others. Through him I met a couple; they were very nice and even offered me to stay with the group they camped out with. For once I felt welcomed after being rejected so much. One out of ten people I approached and spoke to would have a brief conversation with me and maybe would let me take stills. Every time that camera came out, it was like a magnet for trouble, if it was hanging off my shoulder it was o.k. but when that shutter blinked at the crowd, it wasn't seducing anyone.

It is very hard to get homeless people to let you hang out in their area even less take pictures of them, and that I understand. I tried all kinds of things, like growing my beard and wearing old clothes, but that doesn’t really work, turns out most homeless people that are sane enough to talk to you and understand what you are doing, are well dressed because of donations and well fed.

For the first three weeks all I did was mingle with the crowd in downtown. I told them who I was and what my project was about. I left my camera in my bag and just had conversations with people for hours. I would leave home from 4 p.m. after school and ride my bike to downtown and stay there until 8 p.m. sometimes 10 p.m. On a Friday night I once watched a movie in a parking lot on a portable DVD with the couple, he was nice, but his wife didn't like me so I left early around 11 p.m. It was a cold night and everyone smoked. Smoking cigarettes helped me blend in with the rest and make friends by trading, so I began to smoke.

I had a pack of cigs in my pocket almost every day just in case I stayed late, eventually I smoked even if I wasn't cold. I would sit in the benches of the downtown plaza, play dominoes with whoever was next and smoke. I felt bad eating the food handed out to the homeless and felt bad bringing my own, so lunch and dinner I skipped many times.

Once someone saw me smoking they knew I had cigs on me, so they would ask me for one and we would trade cigs. This was an easy way to get to know people. It was as if little by little I was no longer a stranger, but one of them.

Some would make fun of me and tell me I didn’t have friends, and ask me questions that tested my patience. That was o.k, after a while I realized one thing I never thought of, they may be homeless, but the spots where they hung around or slept in at night were their home, that was their private space, so I wouldn't go there unless invited. I also realized that was probably their way to let me know they liked me, by threatening me and saying things like "If I hear that click one time boy" I would calm them down by reassuring that I only took pictures with permission and that I would never disrespect. I knew I was in their territory and had to consider that, even though we were outside in the street in the open public. Some just said it as a joke, but some were really serious.

In my journalism classes I learned outside is free game, but outside for the homeless have rules, their rules.

Eventually, some got to know me and began to accept the fact that I was around and would possibly take pictures. I didn't have to say anything whenever a new guy would come by and threaten me. I was defended by someone else. I was protected by the people that at first were ready to kick me out.

In one occasion a man got really close to my face. He was angry and shouting telling me to leave. He was just scared. The thought that my camera might tell the world where he was and how he was doing is the kind of record that wouldn't stay within the county he was booked. I was scared too, for my camera.

As small encounters like these happened where people looked out for me I knew I was growing close to the crowd. I was only able to spend so much time with them because I didn't have a job at the time. I knew when I got a job or two, eventually I would not have the time to do that again. So I went out there every free minute I had.

I would wait until someone in the homeless crowd would say something like “Hey boy why aren’t you writing something down” or “where is your camera, what kind of a journalist are you?” That was my signal, my -- it’s o.k. you can shoot. -- The guy I was with at first taught me all that and initially he would give me the signal, but he would go missing the first week or two of the month because he got his checks. I don’t know what from but that’s what people around there said. As soon as those checks came in, some would rent a hotel, buy food, drugs and go missing till they were broke again with nothing a haze of memories could't remember. I guess that's the point, not to remember. After a few weeks they would show up drunk, high or intoxicated of whatever it is they last had. So the third week of every month I knew what to expect. That's how I found the serious addicts.

Eventually I started approaching people on my own and I had my camera out all the time, I knew who cared about the camera and who didn’t, so I was very careful not to get near those who didn’t like pictures.

The man that helped me at first thought I was writing a story, because I was a journalist. Though I explained to him several times that I was doing a picture story and showed him my camera, he kept asking me when the written article would come out. In one of his intoxication fits he got angry and I left him alone. After that one incident, he kept approaching me asking me rhetorical questions. I figured so many times I explained to him what I was doing. Why would he remember this time? So I left him alone, didn't want to make him angry again. Later on I found out he was shooting.

For some reason, that day when I was drinking coffee alone at my apartment I understood how the homeless feel. It was the fifth week into the project and I wasn’t feeling good. The nice people were not around and I had a sad conversation with an old man from 4 p.m. to 6 p.m. I was hungry and tired, so I went home and called it a day. I made some coffee and sat in my table, alone.

As I thought of the people I had met I felt a little jealous of the company they always have. At first it was hard to understand why I was feeling that way, but it helped me realize how special they are to each other, whether couples or just friends, all they have is each other. As I thought about them and how they stared and sometimes approached me with questions and concern, I think at some point, it was almost as if they felt sorry for me. Some would offer me food and drinks as if to them I was homeless.

After the coffee I felt better and I returned at around 8:30 p.m., that same day. There I met Tony from New York, standing outside a church with his shopping cart reading a book titled “The Statue In The Harbor.”