Project Renewal has the same philosophy as the Bowery Residents Committee: By means of intermediate steps—rehab, vocational and educational programs—they try to restore the self esteem lost during all these years on the street. The final goal is twofold: work and housing. Because of intensive assistance, the success rate is high: the flier says that 90 percent of all clients who follow all the steps of the program end up working and living in a decent place.
A door behind the receptionist opens and Dov Waisman enters. We introduce ourselves and are invited into a conference room, a big space with white and red-checkered tiles. Paintings of tacky snow landscapes adorn the walls. Big letters on colored leaves of paper pinned to the wall spell out ‘The Journey Continues.’
Underneath it are balloons that are now withered and sagging. It looks like there must have been a wild church party a few days earlier, with a lotta pep talk, pretzels and, sorry, soft drinks only.
Little Havana takes its place in chairs that form a half-circle around Dov. They look a bit confused about the psychedelic interior. Julio frowns, mesmerized by the red-white chess board pattern of the tiles that surround him.
Dov is a young, friendly, white guy. A checkered shirt that is too big and cheap glasses give him the look of a college student. Five pairs of nervous Latino eyes stare intensely at him. When he gets over his shyness, he comes to the point.
Yes, thanks to the new program of the Secretary, the tunnel people are entitled to alternative housing. Project Renewal has been employed to process the individual cases, and provide assistance and additional programs when needed. The Coalition has the task of facilitating communication between the tunnel people and their aid workers.
To obtain the vouchers, there is actually a lot of red tape involved. The applicant must have identity papers and prove he has an income, be it a legal job or welfare. Also, the applicant must be free of any alcohol or drug addiction. The Havana five get serious faces when they realize the apartments don’t come easy. To start with, the issue of identity papers might be difficult. Dov takes up a pile of folders and discusses each case.
Poncho, Getulio, and Hugo are already on welfare. They only need proof from Social Security. That can be arranged in a couple of calls. All three have lost their Social Security cards, but since they are already in the system, it is not difficult to obtain new copies.
The door swings open and a big black man enters. He has gold chains around his neck and two silver teeth shine in his mouth. “Hi, Vincy,” Julio calls out happily. The man is Vincent, Project Renewal’s other caseworker. Unlike his shy partner, Vincent is the outgoing kind. He himself has been homeless, he tells us, and he realizes it is not easy to get back on track. But it certainly is possible, assures Vincent, and it is worth it.
Then his voice turns serious: “It’s ten o’clock in the morning. My nose is telling me that someone has been drinking. And that nose of mine never lies.”
Vincent is silent and looks everybody deep in into the eyes. Julio bends his head and looks at the floor. Finally he puts up his finger like a naughty child with a blushing face.
“You come with me for a minute,” Vincent orders him. The two disappear and come back fifteen minutes later. Vincent has decided that Julio has to address his alcohol problem and has made him an appointment. Next week Monday, eight AM sharp, he has to be at an alcohol clinic on the Bowery.
With Julio back, Dov gets his file. Julio has more problems. He does not have welfare, and to apply he needs his birth certificate. His mother in the Bronx has it. However, Julio doesn’t want to face his mother. She still thinks he is living happily with Debby, and he can’t tell her he’s homeless and living in a tunnel.
Dov thinks. With a bit of creativity, there might be a way out. Julio exhales in relief.
Dov moves on to Estoban. His case is hopeless. Not only does he speak little English—Hugo has to translate everything—but he has also lost all his papers. Like most Marielitos, he has official permanent resident status, but he’s lost his green card. It was stolen out of his pocket when he was sleeping on a park bench. That’s why he could never find a legal job, Hugo explains. Estoban looks helplessly around him. He has also lost his Social Security card and has forgotten his number. Dov is stuck, and has no idea how to start getting Estoban’s papers back. He leaves the room to make a few phone calls while Estoban paces nervously up and down.
“It’s going to be complicated,” Dov says when he returns a while later with a concerned look on his face. Estoban starts rapidly talking to Hugo in an angry voice, and prepares himself to leave. We can barely manage to stop him.
“Don’t leave him out, man,” Julio says indignantly to Dov. He reassures us with a sigh that he will do all he can.
“You know, that’s why there are so few people in these programs,” Julio says once we all are outside. “When they see all the paperwork, they’d rather stay on the street.” Little Havana has mixed feelings; nevertheless, a mood of cautious optimism prevails.
Two days later, Bernard has his appointment with Project Renewal. Dov knows Bernard already from radio and TV, and is honored to meet one of the most famous homeless people of New York face to face. Bernard immediately launches into his eloquent tunnel monologue. Dov is listening with interest, but after fifteen minutes starts to look tired. After a long ontological discourse, Bernard is now discussing the predictions of Nostradamus. Dov, who has studied philosophy at Harvard, is not into mystical vagaries and he comes to the point.
Bernard has prepared himself well and has done all the necessary paper work. He has gone on welfare and has the papers to prove it. Relieved, Dov fills in the applications for the Section 8 vouchers. They will be sent out the same week. Bernard is ahead of everybody in the process, Dov explains, and will be the first one to get his voucher. There is only one small thing: the vouchers were originally meant for tunnel people living in the subway, not the ones that live in the Amtrak train tunnel. But Dov will call DC; he doesn’t think it is a problem.
“Tunnel life was beautiful,” Bernard says as he bids farewell to Dov and thanks him for everything. “But after eight years, it is time to leave. Only, I would love to spend one last winter on my own down there,” Bernard sighs. “To fast and meditate so I can start up top with a clean spirit in a clean body.” Dov starts to look concerned again.
Back outside, we have a coffee and Bernard explains his plans. He has little confidence in the Section 8 vouchers. “I only participated to see if they are serious. Call it an experiment.” But he is slowly preparing to leave the tunnel. The plan is to seriously start two-for-oneing, and save all the money as a deposit for his move into a new place. Bernard wants to borrow a hundred dollars to start up his canning business. If he promises me not to blow it on crack, I might be able to lend it, I tell him. Bernard swears he will really invest it. Let me think about it, I tell him. I’ve noticed he’s started to slow down on the drugs and is working hard with Pier John.
Then Bernard tells me the good news. Bob is gone. He is back at Pete’s Place, the shelter where he stayed before moving into the YMCA in Brooklyn. I can come back to Bernard’s bunker. It would actually be a pleasure, because the nuisance I cause rattling my kettles to make my coffee is peanuts compared to the chaos Bob caused. I will move back in a week. My wife is visiting me for a week, and Bernard is curious to meet her. Tomorrow we’re all going to the zoo.
Bernard is charmed by my wife Charlotte when I bring her down into the tunnel. She is showered in the sunlight that falls though the grate while she looks around in amazement at the bizarre surroundings. Bernard observes her in the radiant light and winks at me with a sign of approval. With a moist cloth, he wipes off the chairs at the fireplace and serves coffee in mugs that he has cleaned thoroughly.