As I remember, it was the beginning of December 1975. Without warning, 220 women were told that they would have to leave the Evangeline Residence Hall, run by the Salvation Army. Many of us had lived there for years. But if you had not stayed there continuously for the past eight years, you would have to go.The Salvation Army wanted to turn the residence hall into what was called a domiciliary care facility— a place for seniors to live. Their SSI payments would cover their rent. The Evangeline had been a pleasant, fairly inexpensive place for young businesswomen. I had lived there since 1967, but since I had lived in Florence, Italy with my father and stepmother for six months at the end of 1973, I did not make the cut. We were given a month to relocate; then we got an extension for one more month.
I earned my living working freelance as a research assistant and art model, and was just scraping by. Even back in 1975, rents were too high for what I was bringing home. For various reasons, I couldn’t ask my father, stepmother or mother for financial aid. I was desperate to find a decent home, not in a rough neighborhood, nor in some far end of the suburbs.A number of us waged a campaign to stop the Salvation Army from throwing us out. We got petitions signed at a local supermarket and went to meetings with our neighbors. We saw a lawyer. We were interviewed for local television. It was all to no avail.
I remember answering an ad for one place. I can’t recall the terms, but they must have been good enough for me to go for the interview. The apartment was fully furnished in heavy plush with dark colors and lots of animal prints.I found out that the proprietor would be there in the day- time; it would continue to be his apartment. I guess I was to be his roommate. I said no.
At the last minute I heard about a tiny place that was just three blocks from the Evangeline. It was on the first floor and was set back from the street, with a courtyard in front of it. It was just coming off rent control and only $105.00 a month then. I’m still there. The rent is much higher now, but still extraordinarily low for Manhattan.
The Salvation Army, as it turned out—and I learned this only recently—later abandoned its plans to convert their residence hall into a domiciliary care facility. I was told it was on a technicality: they couldn’t fit a gurney, as required, into one of their elevators.In recent years, former residents have been invited back for warm and delightful get-togethers, and I’ve enjoyed meeting old friends.
Imagine what it must be like to be homeless, when the sidewalk is your home. Imagine what it must be like to be a woman and homeless. I’m sure I would have wound up in shelters, and probably bounced from place to place. It’s hard when you get sick easily, as I do. And where would I put all my possessions? I was very lucky.
I want to encourage people to question the customary way of seeing “the homeless,” which I very nearly became. When you are homeless, you are seen as a bum. Look at all the protests that occur when a new homeless shelter is planned. Do you recall reading about that luxury condo tower that was turned into a homeless shelter because the owner couldn’t sell the apartments, and the wealthy neighborhood raised such a fuss that Mayor Bloomberg quickly assured them it was only temporary? The people who came to live in that shelter should have been welcomed, and should have, after allthey had been through, enjoyed the fancy fixtures, the state-of-the-art kitchens, the walk-in closets, the fine views. When you have experienced hardship you have earned all that. I also recall attending a Community Board meeting at which there was a lengthy discussion of the kind of benches people wanted near their building; they wanted them designed to discourage homeless people from resting their weary bodies there.
No one should ever be homeless, or looked down upon for being without a home. As the great economist and historian Eli Siegel once asked, “What does a person deserve by being a person?”
