Chapter 7: The Night that Launched Tent City

I never intended to become the leader of a homeless camp in Oakland. But that's what happened.

City Team Oakland - The day the St. Mary’s program released us, about half of the guys had been placed in housing. While a “senior” member of the group, I did not expect to receive placement as I was still younger and stronger than some. Whitey got placed, but Fred did not. Neither did Stuart. Back to City Team for me.

I arrived early. Neither Fred nor Stuart were there. After paying my $5 I took stock of the room. The first thing I noticed was the sign on each set of bunk beds:

DO NOT SIT ON THE BEDS!

A head count showed 35 Homeless men milling around, most sitting on steel chairs watching the one big-screen TV. There were occasional arguments over broadcasting content, but nothing too bad. Next, I counted the chairs in the room that would have to hold this restless group for three hours: 33, with a few more folks to come. Not good.

I spotted a friend in the third row of chairs watching the TV, so I slid through the crowd to talk to him. This was apparently a mistake for a guy my size to make. When I sat down in back, a 300-pound bull of a man walked over and parked his ass right in front of my face. I was nonplussed – The TV didn’t interest me and I remained unprovokable. After a few minutes I said, calmly, “Is there a reason for this widescreen view of your ass?” He let me know he had not appreciated my talking to my friend with my ass in his way.

“Fair enough,” I said. “I apologize. It was not at all my intention to offend you that way.” But some people take apologies as invitations to escalate. At that moment, the man in charge behind the counter began to yell at me as if I were the instigator.

That’s when I did the simple math: three hours of three dozen uptight, hungry men in a small room with only 33 chairs, without real supervision. What were my options? I could remain in that powder keg, hoping things wouldn’t get worse if a guest “preacher” showed up. Or, I could ask for my $5 back, catch the 51 bus to Big 5 Sporting Goods, lay down some money on the best tent and sleeping bag they had on sale, and go to the camp near the Webster Tube where I knew some folks and could have a peaceful night’s sleep.

Three minutes was all I needed to go from math to action. I excused myself past Mr. Fat Ass and politely asked the guy behind the counter for my $5 back. By 7 p.m., I had claimed my initial stake for the new section of “Tent City,” with me peacefully sleeping in a nice three-person tent and a good flannel sleeping bag – all for $48.

From Homeless solitary to camp leader

I had not planned to start a community, set up ground rules, and establish a haven for Homeless people there at the corner of 6th and Webster. But it all happened quickly. I remained somewhat alone for several nights. Somehow, I had procured a one-man tent and an extra blanket, stowing them in case someone else came along who needed them. None of the other guys who exited the St. Mary’s program without housing placement had shown up and I didn’t know what happened to them. This concerned me, but at the same time I figured they could take care of themselves better than they thought they could. Most of their fears about younger Homeless folks mugging them were probably overblown. 

And then Fred showed up that night around 11:30 looking for a safe place to lay his head. My one-man tent and blanket became his solution. I set him up next to my 10-man tent so he would feel safe, as he was still under the illusion of being in constant danger. Fred found a three-man tent soon afterward, and I acquired a clean, new sleeping bag for him.

Word traveled about our new encampment, and soon Stewart showed up. He had also been afraid of what life after St. Mary's would be like. But when he saw that Fred and I seemed relaxed, he purchased a tent and set up camp with us. This was a great nucleus in that we knew each other well and could make each other laugh. Fred was gregarious and outrageous, and Stewart was a music aficionado with a wicked but sophisticated sense of humor.

We laid out our tents in a circle, with the entrances pointed inward toward a common area. It was like circling the wagons. Someone would’ve needed a deliberate plan to squeeze into our common space and ransack a tent or two. And that never happened. Someone at the camp was always on guard, and it only took one person to keep it secure.

Adopting the Lifestyle

Personal organization became critical. I thinned out much of what I had acquired to ease mobility. As is so often the case in life, less was more, yet I didn’t skimp on the important things.

For instance, I upgraded from a three-person tent to an eight-person model, one in which I could stand up straight without bowing my head. It offered lots of room to set up my cot and sleeping bag, a little Chinese table to one side for my laptop, wooden crates with my folded clothes, and food supplies to the left, with plenty of open space in the middle. I would buy tea candles in bulk. Balanced on the crates, they created a nice ambience. I could put three of them in the base below my cast iron teapot. In about 45 minutes, they would heat the water to the correct temperature for some great tea or to make some oatmeal with apples as a late-night dessert.

The tea candles also warmed my space surprisingly well. A good sleeping bag and an extra layer of clothes were still important, of course. But in West Oakland the temperature fluctuated between 50 and 90 degrees at the extremes. And the massive overhead freeway structure evened out all weather conditions, providing much stability and less need for hard-weather equipment.

Outside my tent was the typical shopping cart that became my backup storage for things of lesser importance. It was from Home Depot, which was a good two-hour walk from where I had found it abandoned near Jack London Square.

Most of the other guys adopted similar forms of organization, although perhaps not to the extent of mine. Notwithstanding the slight OCD ring to my approach, I enjoyed the aesthetic of orderliness and the ability to easily find things. It was a little bit of peace apart from the chaotic world outside my tent.

Rules & regs

My role in the camp extended to the long stretch of Homeless folk who lived along Webster. As the camp grew, it was only natural to lay down some simple ground rules. Security and safety were my responsibility and my fellow campers’ chief concerns. We needed simple, straightforward rules that wouldn’t impinge on personal freedom or the ability to relax and enjoy one another’s company. Life was already hard enough without adding unnecessary social pressures. New responsibilities for helping people live in greater harmony naturally fell into my lap.

I ensured the bags of food and supplies a local charity provided once a week ended up in front of our residents’ tents. Nobody ever touched another person’s bag once I placed it. The feeling was that these were “sacred spaces.” If it was on or near your tent it, was yours without dispute.

Not long after this, I instituted a water policy I had seen modeled in 2012 during my time in Seattle. We couldn’t find a church that was willing to provide us with fresh water. So, I procured two empty carboys (the jugs that fit onto your water cooler at work or home). A couple of our campers would throw them into a shopping cart and take them to a business to fill them. Thus, we always had fresh water for a host of necessities.

So much of our maintaining a well-run Homeless camp centered on planning. Ensuring adequate supplies ahead of time was part of our daily business. For example, in the late afternoon someone would visit local markets to look for wooden crates we could bust up for firewood or cooking fuel. At least, that was until I procured a small butane cook station.

One real challenge was illness. What do you do when a virus rifles through the camp and incapacitates many inhabitants? My strong ties with Oak Life Church became very important in these situations. Though just a startup church with about 35 members when I began attending their services at Oakland’s Parkside Theater, from the beginning they offered what help they could. It was always timely. I might get an early morning report that half the camp had come down with severe colds or the flu. So, I’d jump on my mini laptop at Starbucks and fire off an email to Pastor Chris Scott to apprise him of the situation. Usually, by noon, a bag filled with eight to 10 DayQuil bottles would be waiting for me, along with two cases of bottled water. It was all efficient and wonderful.

Privacy?

Our camp enjoyed privacy along the fence line. Our sheets, carpets, bedspreads, flags – you name it – blocked the view from Webster Street into our camps. But on the other side, the bumper-to-bumper traffic around 4 p.m. every day provided an amusement park-like view into our daily lives. I wondered at the variety of comments the motorists must have made to themselves as they gawked at our multi-colored Tent City.

Once, I had a wonderful idea of how we could creatively respond to this intrusion. We planned a trip to a toy store to purchase cheap plastic golf sets. We’d then visit the nearest thrift shop to find the loudest, gaudiest golf attire. During rush hour, I wanted to stage a comic three-hole golf course, acting the entire thing out like we were serious. It would have pleased me to no end to provide some zany theatrics while the commuters struggled along in their cars. I wanted these people to see a community of Homeless people having fun and enjoying life. Imagine the sight of us in our wacky golf getups, sizing up the next shot, driving the ball an impressive 15 feet with a plastic club. My lack of follow through on this idea is my one regret in the years I lived in Tent City.

Sticking to the plan

After some time on the streets you realize certain freedoms you enjoy, such as the lack of rent or a mortgage payment or the cost of utilities. You don’t have to answer to an overbearing, unsympathetic boss driven by their insecurities, which in turn drive you half mad. You relish the avoidance of pressures stemming from an affluent lifestyle that may constantly threaten to land you in a situation … like the one you’re currently in.

Yet you must also take stock of all you must live without: clean hot and cold running water, your own bathroom, a refrigerator, air conditioning and central heat. Many struggles boil down to a lack of electrical power. Not unlike camping – although with a terrible view – you must rely on battery-based equipment. And nowadays, that means you can do fairly well.

Arriving at Starbucks early each morning, I would dive under the big table and plug in a six-outlet power strip. This was the base for my variety of USB cables to charge an array of items: a compact, collapsible hanging triangular light that would illuminate my entire tent; a collapsible handheld lamp that doubled as a flashlight; and a backup battery pack. And of course, I would plug in and recharge my laptop. My power strip left open more outlets than I needed, so I could help other visitors. There is nothing more frustrating than someone hogging both outlet ports in a room where several people have equipment to recharge.

All of this was very much on the downlow. Whatever equipment I was recharging was shoved in my bag next to the outlet strip. As soon as things were fully charged, I’d detach everything, leaving the power strip open and available until it was time to go. This meant I always had light, both generally and in a specifically mobile way.

The Starbucks staff were generally okay with this. In the same situation today, I would have to find a different way. Even pre-pandemic, Starbucks has enacted policies that complicate and confound anyone lounging in their cafes. Coded locks on the restroom doors are becoming the norm, even in the “safe” suburban locations. One by one, their shops are undergoing complete remodels, ditching their soft leather seating for hard chairs and harsh lighting.

By the time this transformation began, I was no longer Homeless. I found this policy so offensive that I ceased being a Starbucks customer. I expect more and more people each day are happy to oblige the company’s “get it and get out” approach. And personally, I've always hated their coffee. Something changed profoundly in the upper echelons of the Starbucks Corporation when Howard Schultz departed. Where once they were for the Homeless, now they are decidedly against them. I think they will reap what they've sown.