Last night was my first night at Tent City. A brief history of Tent City (follow the links for more): There was a need for another place for the homeless to stay back in January of this year because local churches who provided shelter in previous winters were unable to this past winter. Carpenter's Church, a local church dedicated to helping the homeless, began leasing tents to those who agreed to follow a set of rules. The site chosen was a patch of grass at a city park (a memorial to those who died in the 1970 tornado). As this piece of land would need to be maintained in the spring, a new site would have to be chosen. The Executive Director of Link Ministries donated a piece of land and an adjacent building (with bathrooms) as the new site for Tent City. There are now about 50 people living in roughly 40 tents at this location.
I arrived to find a few men sitting at some picnic tables outside of an old weigh station which is now the administration center of Tent City. I ask who is in charge and a tall, skinny old man with a full, dirty beard spotted with grey tells me that he is. He introduces himself as Slim and asks me a few questions about my situation. I can feel him sizing me up. I'm guessing that this is the application process for a patch of land out here, but I can't tell what he's looking for. He asks me if I have my own tent and I reply that I do. This seems to be what he is looking for. He goes inside to get some paperwork. Another old man is chain smoking Pall Mall's and staring at the big, metal barn that sits on part of the property that is Tent City. He introduces himself as Robert and asks me why I'm in Lubbock. I tell him that I've got some work here and that I will probably be moving on when the job is done. I've found that this is the worst part of my little experiment. I've had to construct a back story to tell when I am asked. I am rarely asked anything about my past except when checking in at the Salvation Army and Tent City. They seem to want to know where I've been, how long I've been homeless, and how long I expect to stay. I'm not sure why any of this is relevant, but both places seem to like their paperwork. I ask Robert what he does and he says that he is retired. I'm about to comment that maybe he should have put off retirement a few more years when he tells me that he's waiting to get a few more "retirement checks" and he will get an apartment. Optimism runs high here at Tent City.
Slim comes back outside and he interviews me and fills out my paperwork. After this, he hands me a sheet of paper listing the rules. Most of them are pretty standard "don't cause trouble" rules. Residents are expected to clean up after themselves, not carry weapons, notify "management" should they move out, and get along with their neighbors. Slim says that he and two others make up Management. I read in the rules that if a resident has two disputes with other residents, they are required to go before a council. I don't want to ask too many questions for fear of being found out, but I imagine that the appearance before the council begins with a ceremonious lighting of a barrel fire before the departing resident must collect his knapsack and march out a gauntlet of other residents all banging on trash cans. If a resident is found fit to remain at Tent City, he is awarded a rose and then forced to drink wine out of Slim's shoe. The council is tough but fair.
Unlike the Salvation Army, Tent City does not have a curfew. They close the gates to the lot at 10:00, but someone is on duty to let residents in should they arrive after this hour. This is the best part of Tent City. The Salvation Army does not allow residents to leave after they have checked in. If a resident at the Salvation Army eats dinner at the facility at 5:00, they are not allowed to leave until 5:00 the next morning. I decide that I will fully take advantage of this as Tent City is dusty and does not offer much shade.
I arrive at Tent City at 12:30 that night. I had set up my tent after going over the rules with Slim. The place is completely silent except for the trains rolling out of the rail yard about a quarter of a mile away and I go to sleep. A couple of hours later I am awoken by the lights of an ambulance parked at the door of a nearby tent. I sit up to look as the paramedics take the stretcher out of the ambulance. The resident of the tent never emerges from the tent and it's a disappointing false alarm. I get up and head to the administration building and a member of management tells me that everyone is fine. I am happy that everyone is OK, but I'm too scared to ask for details. There are about 4 other residents milling about the office and it's obvious that Tent City does not have any rules on hygiene as this place does not smell good. There's a microwave and multiple coffee pots on a counter along with several cases of bottled water. A couple of guys are talking on cell phones and browsing the internet on laptops behind the counter. I’m not sure if these belong to these individuals or Tent City, but it’s nice to know that the needs of the homeless now include the ability to access their Facebook page. Many of the homeless have cell phones which I feel is becoming a necessity. It gives future employers a way to contact the applicant as well as allowing the homeless a way to contact each other should an emergency council meeting be called.
I’m woken up the next morning by one of neighbors talking on the phone. I was told that I lived next to a married couple who are the only residents allowed to share a tent. She’s about thirty and pretty rough looking and she is angry. I assume she’s talking to her husband as she asks him where he is. I don’t think any location would have placated her, and she questions why he’s been gone for twelve hours. “Well, when am I gonna get some time?” she asks. This confirms my suspicions that every male in a relationship has had to answer this at some point. It’s tough to know if he replied correctly or incorrectly when she hangs up the phone and calls him an MFer. I decide now that I will have a great time at Tent City.
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