An Island Under a Bridge

People driving past the Island bring him things: food, furniture, and appliances. For the last few weeks JT's space, on the median under the Franklin St. overpass, has looked like a typical bachelor's living room. --- Update: Since the publication of this article, JT has received a Section-8 voucher for housing assistance, which he had been on a waiting list for for about six years. The Island is gone, but he can still be found selling water there on most afternoons. --- "You see that Social Security building over there, with the walkway? I used to live there with my grandma," JT says, pointing to the immense building straddling both sides of Mulberry St. near Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd, “Mulberry and Pearle.” In the afternoon heat, he swigs every now and then from the bottle inside the plastic bag in his hands. Nearby, an older friend of JT's is selling copies of the Sun to people driving by. “You must have been real little”, he says, and mentions that he used to live nearby as well. An old woman in a wheelchair periodically gets up to walk over to take the change being offered by drivers. “How long have you been at the ...the Island?” I ask, pointing towards the overpass nearby. JT says, “six years.” I don't remember seeing anything that caught my eye there more than a few months ago, and he explains that his belongings have been removed by the City 13 times. “They come and take it, but I just get more.” People driving past the Island bring him things: food, furniture, and appliances. For the last few weeks JT's space, on the median under the Franklin St. overpass, has looked like a typical bachelor's living room. There's a couch, a love seat, and a couple of swivel office chairs. A broom is standing in one corner, and street signs warn trespassers and cars from his doorstep. Shirts hang from a nearby tree that serves as a closet. A box fan sits on top of a plastic crate, and an old television sits on another. “Folks trip when they see the fan – like now, when the wind hits it." The fan spins, but it's not plugged in. A young man sets up nearby; he has a cooler with water bottles he begins selling to the drivers. A deflated air mattress is spread out near the love seat, and a square of cardboard acts as a rug between the television and the couch. “People drive by, see me cleanin' up. They stop and talk." JT mentions a few of his friends that live in the area, and gives a shout out to a handful that happen to pass by. He lives here alone. “Im a God fearin' man. I wake up every morning thankful for making it through,” he says. There's plenty of space in the grass between the side of the road and the cement pillar of the overpass, but he prefers to stay out in the open. People driving past take pictures of him, putting them on Facebook, he says. During afternoon rush hours one can find JT catching up with friends that drive by The Island, calling out greetings across lanes of traffic waiting for the light to change to green. A man walks past us up MLK, and I mention I have seen him panhandling often near the corner of N. Howard Street. “Sometimes people take my things, or just knock stuff over. Like I'll go to the store to get something, and come back to find something gone,” JT mentions. He sometimes shares food with the handful of people that spend their time on the busy corridor. During the blizzard, he says, “I got me a bucket and put some bleach in it, used it for a bathroom, put up some tarp and slept under 42 blankets for two days.” I ask him how he ended up on the street, and he vaguely answers that he left his home because of some trouble, but can go back if he wants to. Every so often his mother, who lives in Baltimore, stops by with some food. "As soon as I get done with you, I'm gonna go get some ice and water,” he explains. $2 for a bag of ice, a few more for a case of water bottles, and JT can usually raise enough these days to get something to eat, sometimes from the Silver Moon cafe on W. Baltimore St, or the handful of Chinese places nearby. “People buy a bottle, give me a $5, $10, $20, tell me to keep the rest," he explains. "Do you have any trouble sleeping at night because of the busy street?” I ask. “Nope, I have no trouble falling asleep,” he says. Many nights he is asleep well before midnight, a solitary figure on a bed in an apartment without walls.