Public Speaking

Going out into the community involves more than networking, it also requires actually talking. Our public speaking talk was delivered by Jackie, a student at University of Phoenix, but more to the point, an involved member of Toastmasters.

Unfortunately, our video camera was still charging at the youth house at the time of her speech, so it lives on in notes and description.

She covered delivery, including:

• Eye contact
• Walking
• Vocal variety
• Emphasis
• Hand gestures

She also discussed content issues, such as giving reasons, knowing facts, telling stories about the kids and the house, and telling your own story. She also had general advice, such as "Make it easy for them to donate," and "Even if you screw up, they aren't going to stone you."

Concluding her speech, I followed up with an organizational structure particularly suited for persuasive speaking (Monroe's Motivated Sequence - 5 Steps: Attention, Need, Satisfaction, Visualization, Action).

Taking the Lightrail

We hadn't been planning on taking the lightrail, but a few people asked if it made sense, and it did.

Public transportation is a homeless youth reality, and the lightrail is no exception. Getting a monthly bus pass also allows use of the rail. Past that, they hop it without paying.

Homeless youth have a healthy fear of lightrail security. Apparently the fine is hefty, and you will eventually get caught. If traveling illegally, the front car or back car is best. That way you can either 1.) see the security as you pull up to the station, or 2.) see them get on and hop off before they ask for the ticket you don't have.

In the spirit of the experience, we all decided to hop the rail without paying.

I then secretly bought tickets.

Morning of the Second Day

On an average day, I sleep from 2 a.m. to 10 a.m. I write well during late hours and generally am having too much fun with my day to go to bed early. Because of this, I have little familiarity with 5:30 a.m. Let's just say I have more experience with sunsets than sunrises.

News flash: It gets light around 5 a.m.

Normally this is a truth pleasantly obscured by the walls, roof, and window shades. When sleeping out in the library park, however, there are no barriers between me and the rising light.

When uncomfortable, I can sleep.
When cold and uncomfortable, I try to sleep. At least I can fantasize about it.
When cold, uncomfortable, and having unwelcome sunshine on my face, the fleeting hope for sleep evaporates.

Fuck it. Time to get up.

Making it Through the First Night

At first, things didn't seem too bad. We each had two disaster blankets made from woven recycled cloth, and they were surprisingly soft. One folded in half for the ground, one draped over the body. There was some conversation about shoes on or off, and where our stuff should go. Around midnight the talking started to settle. By this point I am feeling pretty tired, and a fairly reliable method of settling people off to bed is bedtime songs. So, drawing on my youth, I sing "Michael Row Your Boat Ashore" (chosen ironically because of Michael), and "Where Have All the Flowers Gone." Few would be startled to learn my mother was a hippie.

I don't know when other people went to bed. I slipped off after about half an hour of trying to find which part of my hip I didn't mind jabbing into the ground.

I wake around 2:30 am. It is cold. The blankets may be soft, but they don't hold the heat. I spend more than an hour rustling around trying to figure out how to get warmer. Judging from other rustling, other people are awake, too. Eventually, I manage to wrap the bottom blanket around me as well, which helps. I sneak around the group and wrap other peoples bottom blanket around them. Some are awake and thank me. Others are sleeping.

In all, I managed to get another 30 or 45 minutes of sleep out of the darkness.

End of Day One

Our evening wrapped up nicely. After the talks and activities were through a few people called home, a few walked and talked, and a few played football. No Stand Up For Kids activity is official until there has been the throwing of the football.

Some of our late comers even brought a guitar. At that moment, it felt a little like a camp out.




There were some worries about the sprinklers coming on. Unfortunately, the worries were not unfounded. About ten minutes after the camera was shut off and we were all laid down for the night, the sudden rush and sputtering of the nightly watering surrounded us from all sides. Panic unfolded as disaster blankets, backpacks, and humans were picked up and thrown to safety. A few folks got a little wet, but no one was majorly drenched.

We reasoned the city of Phoenix would not water the rocks. They did not, though the gravel bed was decidedly less comfortable than the grass.

The practice of watering the grass late at night makes a lot of sense. Grass needs to be watered, particularly in the state of Arizona. Watering at night cuts down on evaporation, which increases water efficiency. This policy does, however, make the public space less usable for the homeless.

Staying Safe

Of the three talks concerning homeless issues (staying safe, staying sane, and meeting basic needs), we thought starting with how to stay safe was a good idea.

Presented by Dustin and Sam, it outlined ten basic things to keep in mind when trying to stay safe. Many of the points were backed up with stories.

Tips included:
1.) Stay prepared
2.) Stay sober
3.) Have a weapon or come in numbers
4.) Carry some form of light
5.) Keep something warm
6.) Keep a phone nearby
7.) Change sleeping spots
8.) Sleep somewhere quiet
9.) Keep yourself fed
10.) Darkness can be friend or foe; it's all in how you use it



Following reflections on staying safe, all three of our homeless youth began telling stories. While I don't feel quite right publishing them here, they included foster care abuse, tragically lost love, corrupted shelter bureaucracy, and facing down harsh elemental conditions. Laced through the tales of darkness and struggle were glimmering threads of camaraderie, fortitude, hope, and humorous antics.

I was struck by how smoothly their storytelling went. Generally, homeless youth are somewhat guarded with their pasts. While some have a talent drawing them out, most volunteers never get the full story. Yet here in the park by the library, the stories came.



Why do you suppose that is? Did we finally ask in the right way? Was it the activities? Was it the fact that we had shown a willingness to learn their world? Or was it our willingness to sleep out in the city? Was it the receptivity? Or the fact that the context allowed for one story after another to be told, each drawing another to follow? Or perhaps is it something more primal? Do humans just tell stories when out under the stars?

Visit from Joe

Often, retreats are run on private property, away from the public eye. This offers a controlled environment, where retreatants can adjust lighting, volume, and general flow of activities.

In the park by the library, we had no such luxury. The constant din of traffic sounded from the Central Avenue bridge. Lights were as provided by the city. But we were also in public, which meant we were observed by passerbys. We also had visitors.

Our first visitor came around 9 p.m. He heralded us from the bridge, shouting inquiry as to what we were doing. We responded, shouting up back that we were on a retreat to get a better understanding of homelessness. So he heads down the stairs to meet us. As he lumbers toward us, I can tell he is probably drunk. Not a reason for outright fear, but reason enough to be wary. Besides, rule number eight is stay aware. My friend Michael and I give each other a look, and I ask him with a head tilt to come with me. He does.

We meet him midway up the stairs. Our visitor introduces himself as Joe. I shake his large hand, introduce myself and try to engage him on the stairs, but he doesn't stop. He says, "I'm not gonna cause any problems. Just wanna talk to you guys." He continues down the stairs. Michael and I shrug at each other and follow.

Joe strikes up a conversation with the group. At first, it isn't clear what he is talking about. After about 30 seconds, however, his point becomes clear. We can't get an understanding of homelessness like this. If we want to really know what it is like, we need to empty our pockets, give away our cell phones, leave our group, and live for a month. Then, only then, would we start to have an idea. It isn't until we have nothing that we will understand.

As he is teaching us, my anxiety lowers. This is a valuable experience, I think. But his insistence starts sounding more indignant and commanding. "You go that way, you go that way." I'm not sure if he is reiterating or telling us what to do. I'm not sure how long we talked to him. Ten minutes, maybe. He starts his point over from the beginning. My anxiety starts mounting again. I don't think he is dangerous. But he is pretty large, and I haven't been able to place the substance he is on. He is somewhat slurred but is either an energetic drunk or on something else. By now his point is well taken, but I am uncomfortable.

One of our homeless youth and one of the volunteers engage him in a smaller conversation, stepping away from the larger group. This works a bit. Eventually a few of us thank him. Reluctantly, he leaves. As he climbs back up the stairs, he shouts, "You go that way, you go that way, you go that way. Alone. No phone." "Thanks!" we reply. Then, with no transition, at the top of his lungs, Joe yells "Anybody want to get high?!? I got pot, acid, whatever you want!" "No thanks," someone hollers back. "Just joking," he cries.

I have no idea whether he is joking or not.

The people on our retreat had varied responses to this visit. Some of us read him as "some crazy homeless guy," while others were more influenced by his overall point. As our retreat went on, however, more volunteers started vocalizing how what Joe had said had really been impactful. I found it a important reminder: we are playing at homelessness. While staying out on the streets for a weekend seems radical to those who have always been homed, it offers similar insight as the blindfolded man gains about being blind. At any moment the cloth can be untied and the experiment is over. For us, we could get sick of our retreat, call our friends and family, and go home.

Getting that, really understanding that, was best facilitated by Joe. While there were times I wished I could turn the traffic volume down to set a different mood or turn the street lights up to get a better video, taking this retreat to some private place would have been an error. Being held in public allowed the community at large to participate and offer their wisdom.