TO POLAND WITH LOVE: K.C. hopes his days in a wheelchair and being on the streets are numbered
There are those who say that if anyone can escape the clutches of homelessness in San Francisco, it’s an amiable 30-year-old African-American man temporarily confined to a hand-me-down wheelchair, a necessity after hyper-extending both knees while working as a mover in January.
Some people just have a supremely positive aura about them, and “K.C.” is one of them.
K.C. — who wished his true name not be used in this story — is a native Californian originally from San Jose. He wears low-cut Chuck Taylors, possesses an articulate way speaking, a knack for panhandling on average about $25 a day near the BART Plaza near 24th and Mission, and a genuine sense of gratitude whenever someone provides him with a cigarette, a cup of coffee, or a horchata from one of the nearby taquerias.
His primary struggle during the daytime appears just to finding a restaurant that will permit him the use of their bathroom to relieve himself. That, and trying to come up with an income that would allow him to move into an SRO hotel, which K.C. says would be a monumental step in achieving his short-term goal of getting off the streets and then pursuing employment in an already poor economy and an ultra-tough job market.
His ultimate goal is to either find stable housing or raise enough money — about $1,200 within the next couple months — in order to be reunited with his 24-year-old wife who is a native of Poland. She is reportedly due to complete her studies in social studies in Warsaw in July, and she’s unaware that K.C. is part of the San Francisco homeless population, estimated to be between 8,000 and 15,000 men, women, and children. He said his airline ticket would be $450, and with the exchange rate in Poland quadrupling his U.S. currency, and rents over there going for $200 a month, a $1,200 bankroll would set him up overseas for a good solid year.
“My wife doesn’t know anything about me being homeless, and I haven’t even been able to bring myself to tell her about how I got laid off from one job, and then how I got hurt on the other, then wound up losing my place,” K.C. said in a quiet taqueria one Friday afternoon, about a half-mile south of where he spends the better part of the afternoons panhandling.
“All I know is I have to get my shit together, and fast. When she’s done with her school our plan is or her to either come out here, or for me to fly over [to Poland] and stay there. The best part of my day is thinking about her, but being away from her and having her so far away… sometimes it brings me to the point of total depression.”
K.C said he was employed for four months last fall in Lake Tahoe, working at Heavenly Valley as a snow maker, then working at various casinos and places like the Hard Rock Café at Harvey’s Resort in the merchandising department for $8 an hour, before seeing his wife off at SFO last October.
He said he then decided to stick around San Francisco, and almost immediately found work as a part-time security guard at $12 an hour, in addition to working “full-time but under the table” at $10 an hour for a moving company — all of which amounted to a decent salary, plus an average of about $200-300 a week in tips on the moving job. He was able to afford a room in a house in Sunset.
Then, shortly after the New Year, bad luck began to snowball, and the slide down the slippery slope began.
First, he was laid off from the security guard job. Then, about two weeks later, while on a moving job out in Pacific Heights, K.C. claims that while he and his moving partner were carrying a couch down a spiral staircase, his right foot slipped, and he was trapped underneath the couch, incurred major pain, and sustained damage to both knees in the mishap. His prognosis is to be wheelchair-free within a couple months before beginning physical therapy.
“I tried to stick it out for the rest of the job (the day he got hurt), but my partner wound up taking me to the hospital. I felt really bad, especially since the people we were helping move had to pick up the slack and help finish the job themselves. But they were cool, and they still even gave me a tip, which I didn’t expect.
“When I first took the moving job, I figured that because I was so young, I really didn’t have too much to worry about as far as injuries. Then when I did get hurt, the company I was working for paid for my doctor visits, but they said I couldn’t work any more until everything was all healed. They said I can have my job back once I’m fully recovered, but there’s no way I’ll ever go back to that.”
K.C. said it was at San Francisco General Hospital where he landed his current wheelchair. A fellow patient was receiving a brand-new electric wheelchair, and that patient graciously offered his manually-powered one to K.C. The wheels on K.C.’s current model are wearing thin, however, and he said he’ll have to get replacement parts from a wheelchair manufacturer in Berkeley.
Because he was not officially recognized by the State of California as being “employed” by the moving company, K.C. is not entitled to Workman’s Compensation benefits or state disability.
At present, he claims he receives no assistance whatsoever: no unemployment insurance, no General Assistance from the City; and no food stamps. His sole means of survival are the occasional Jumbo Jack, some fruit from the La Loma Produce Market, and the money strangers drop into his empty beverage cup.
“To tell you the truth, I only panhandle to get about $20 or $30 for the day. Maybe a few hours here, a few hours there. As soon as I’m there, I’m outta here. I don’t like doing it, but really, it’s the best thing I’ve got at the moment.
“I don’t ask every person who walks by. The majority of ‘em won’t even look at you. Most of ‘em don’t have shit for compassion. Some do, but most just look the other way,” said K.C., who claims his biggest take was $75 in one day a few weeks ago. “The worst place to panhandle is the Financial District. They can be really cold. They give somebody 35 cents one time for the week, and they act like they making some major donation to some major charity.”
As for trying to come up with something more substantial, it appears that K.C. is currently caught in a quagmire.
“I’ve got an SSI case pending (which could provide him with at least $700 per month), but who knows how long that’s going to take,” he said, wistfully. “I was getting GA ($395 a month), but I missed an appointment, and now, if I want to get back on, I’ll have to wait at least 45 days. I could probably draw some unemployment, but for me, that’s only about $74 a week. Not much, I know. It’s not enough to get a room… but better than nothing.”
GUMDROPS IN A PALM TREE
Going to the Metreon to see the latest movie releases, like X-Men 2 and Matrix Reloaded, provides K.C. — an aspiring cinematographer whose parents supposedly both graduated from Cal State-Bakersfield — with some momentary escapes from the bleak-but-not-altogether-hopeless plight of his homeless situation.
And, despite the depressing nature of it all, K.C. also relates some of the more memorable and uplifting encounters he’s had recently with those who call the Mission home.
In a way, it’s analogous to the semi-surreal scene that just-so-happens to be taking place down the street near 25th: some balloons — green, red, blue and yellow — from out in front of a hair salon, get caught by breeze, seem to make their escape to freedom, only to get caught high above in a palm frond. Now they look like gumdrops in a palm tree high above; the metaphor being that they are tasty treats, but they’re simply too far out of reach. Sort of like a job or a home for some, or for others, a decent night’s sleep, where quite frankly, they’re afraid of what they might find if they roll over on their backs.
“I’m just a human turtle,” said K.C., who hoped to eventually return to the City College of San Francisco to complete his A.A degree. “Everything I have, I have on the back of my wheelchair… nowhere I can store it.”
That dilemma has already meant having his blankets stolen twice, which were originally purchased both times from good Samaritans who actually went out and bought them brand new at 20 bucks a pop. The first time, K.C. entrusted a friend — A Suspected Heroin User — to keep an eye on his belongings. When he returned, the blanket was gone. His friend claimed it was “stolen by a drunk Mexican,” but in his heart of hearts, K.C. believed, in reality, his friend sold it for five bucks in order to get a fix. Initially, SmackBoy denied it, but eventually, he came clean, indicating that K.C. was dead-onthe- money with his accusation. That was definitely a kick to the stomach, and a real eyeopener as to what life on the streets can be like.
“I mean, it’s like, how much worse can it get? You’ve got nothing, and then when you do get something, there’s somebody, waiting to take it away from you. I just don’t understand how people can be like that. What really hurt the most is that the lady who bought me that blanket… she bought it out of the love in her heart. That blanket wasn’t just a blanket that would’ve helped keep me warm – it had her love in it. And then, look, it only lasted one day. Then, another lady did the same thing for me, and the same thing happened again.”
Strangely enough, despite those setbacks, and in his continued quest to sleep alone in Mission District alcoves, K.C. said that he has at times turned to his homeless brethren for spare blankets, and in most cases was not denied. Seems they all pull together, since they’re all each other’s got.
Fortunately, the rainy winter season has passed, and with it, so have the dreadful nights spent in what K.C. deemed to be some of the more notorious homeless shelters.
“When I first knew I was going to become homeless back in February, when I knew my landlord wasn’t going to give me any slack and my other two roommates — who were also on the lease paying $350 apiece and were also going to be ass-out — weren’t going to be able to carry me, I called friends trying to find a place temporarily, but none had the space to put me up.
“I stayed at St. Boniface (on Golden Gate Ave.), but the place was overrun by crackheads. Being disabled, I could usually get into most shelters, but still… it got to be so degrading, it was at a level where I knew I didn’t deserve to be, and I just chose not to be a part of it. When you’re homeless, you have to wait in a line for everything. It just became easier for me to panhandle money for food, and then go lay down at night under an awning somewhere. Of all the shelters, Ella Hill Hutch was probably the best. Still, I’d much rather pal up with a couple of friends or be by myself, but that’s just me.”
K.C. said he greatly appreciated the times when I washed his Levi’s and his Columbia snowboard jacket then returned at some prearranged time, or when the two of us shared some of my mom’s homemade banana-nut bread that night down at Harrington’s Pub while watching the NBA playoffs and the Giants baseball game.
“It’s things like that show that it’s not totally barbaric out here, that not everybody’s totally out for themselves. When somebody takes the time — and doesn’t go out of their way to curse at me or tell me to ‘go get a job’ — it has a way of restoring my faith in humanity. I believe in God, and I know my situation is just a temporary one, but there are times when I think that what I really need is a miracle.”
Some minor miracles have already come K.C.’s way. One time, AStudent From New York let him sleep on the sofa for a couple nights, then kicked him down $80, part of which he used to get a room at the Keane Hotel on Mission across from the Chronicle building.
Another time, some partygoers befriended him and took along with them on barhopping jaunt in the Mission, including him in all the rounds.
“It was cool, especially having some drinks while getting off the streets, but at the same time, it did kinda suck,” said K.C, unveiling once again that Magic Johnson smile of his. “I mean, it sucks… being in this wheelchair. They’re all up here on their barstools, and I’m down here, with this ‘dog’s-eye view’, with everybody’s asses in my face. But luckily, after a while, a table opened up, and we all moved, so we were more or less on the same level.
“Another really cool thing happened to me on rainy day, the day X-Men 2 opened. I was about four bucks short, but then this Lady Who Works In Advertising At The Chronicle said, ‘You wanna go back in to see that movie…?’ She gave me ten bucks, so with what I already had, I was able to see the movie, plus buy a popcorn.”
K.C. went back to this business of panhandling, out there in front of La Loma Produce as it was approaching 7 p.m. closing time, where One Kind Soul put a dollar in his cup, then added another fiver just because they thought he was “so nice.” Grand total for an hour-and-ahalf: $18.45. Enough for Matrix Reloaded and another box of popcorn, and another temporary escape from the harsh realities that come with Life at 24th and Mission.
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