Down and out in a downtown on the rise
As the heart of the city gentrifies, some who know these streets quite well wonder what their own futures hold.
By EMILY NIPPS
Published March 30, 2007
DOWNTOWN TAMPA - A pioneering upscale bar and restaurant has made its home in downtown's bleak north end. Condos are cropping up like bean stalks, and so are freshly paved parks along the Riverwalk. But at least one aspect of city life isn't progressing. Dozens of homeless men and women wander through downtown. In the morning, they look for a free breakfast or a cup of coffee. In the afternoon, they gather at the John F. Germany Library to cool off and use the computers. They roll out blankets and sleeping bags on the steps of Sacred Heart Catholic Church at night. They fear for their safety. They fear being hassled by people who see them as blemishes to the new and improved urban landscape. We talked to some who call the streets of downtown home. Their stories are on Page 10.
Jemmy Franklin, 52
Jemmy Franklin sat outside the old federal courthouse on Florida Avenue, begging for a dollar. He was waiting for the Jerk Hut restaurant to close so he could ask for leftovers.
He had no money because crack cocaine eats up his disability checks. He served in the Air Force for two years, he says, but can't work today because of his depression and schizophrenia.
His parents were alcoholics, and he had always dabbled in drugs and alcohol. He partied a lot in his younger years while working at a paper mill in Savannah, Ga., and became addicted to cocaine while in the Air Force.
Then he met Ann, a pretty, single mother of a 6-month-old son. She wanted nothing to do with him at first. But he persisted, showing up at dinners at his friends' house every time he knew Ann would be there.
Finally, they began dating, and he stopped using drugs. They moved into a three-bedroom home and had a daughter.
Then Ann died of sickle cell anemia.
"Part of me died, too," Franklin says. "I began drinking and drugging again." The children went to live with relatives.
"Life be so screwed up, and you just want to get drugs," he says.
Franklin goes to two or three church services every Sunday looking for food. He has a court date in April for drug possession charges. He says he's moving to North Carolina once he takes care of his legal issues. His sister has agreed to let him move in with her.
His daughter is 23 now, he says. She's in Savannah. They still talk.
Tracey Glass, 45
"Come back when you get your tooth fixed."
That's what potential employers tell Tracey Glass when he applies for jobs, he says, and it's so frustrating.
His front tooth was knocked out when he was attacked in December, he says. That was his first month on the streets.
His Florida criminal record might also be a factor. Glass has been arrested on drug possession, burglary, battery and theft charges in Largo and Tampa dating back to 2003. He was last arrested in January, accused of burglary and theft. He spent a week in jail.
Glass says he isn't sure how he ended up in such a life, but if he could just get a job, he'd be able to climb out of his mess.
"I used to think, 'Why do people choose to be homeless?' And now here I am. I'm homeless."
Tampa is unfriendly toward the homeless, he says. Signs at bus stations and businesses discourage people from shaving or brushing their teeth in the restrooms. At least Sacred Heart Church is kind enough to let people sleep on its private property, safe from police arrest, he says.
He used to live in Detroit and says he has been off drugs for eight years. But he is caught in a Catch-22: He's homeless because he doesn't have a job, and he can't get a job because he's homeless. It's hard getting back to a normal life, he says.
"I'm going to dig my way out of this ... And when I do, hopefully I can do something to make a difference."
Times researcher John Martin contributed to this report. Emily Nipps can be reached at (813) 269-5313 or nipps@sptimes.com.
John Nevins, 47, and Jeanne Weber, 43
After being laid off from his job selling John Deere equipment, John Nevins took a trip to Florida in November with his girlfriend, Jeanne Weber, a former gas station attendant. They spent a month in Daytona Beach and a month in West Palm Beach and then came to Tampa.
"That was a mistake," Nevins says.
They drove through a red light at Hillsborough and 22nd avenues and destroyed their car in a collision. Low on cash and without a car or place to stay, they found themselves on the streets.
Finding food is no problem, Nevins says, because groups around Tampa hand out regular meals. But finding a safe place to sleep is a nightly problem. He often sleeps on the steps of Sacred Heart Church but tries to help Weber get into a shelter.
"I'm always more worried about her," he says. "What's she going to do?"
They wake up around 7 a.m. and often spend the day wandering.
"We walk around, check out the sights," Nevins says. "It's a pretty city and people here are friendly. Sometimes we'll go to the library and read. I'll put in applications, but haven't found any work yet."
Weber and Nevins like Tampa, but say it's hard to find work or affordable housing. They also worry about the new condos and businesses downtown.
"The news we hear," Nevins says, "is that the mayor does not like homeless people hanging around the city."
Weber was arrested a couple of weeks ago for drinking beer from an open container on Tampa Street near Interstate 275.
Helping hands: A class takes a closer look at homelessness and springs to action, Page 3