49 names, all homeless

During a vigil for those who died in such places as parks and railroad tracks this year, some observers see themselves.

By TAMARA LUSH, Times Staff Writer
© St. Petersburg Times
published December 22, 2001

TAMPA -- Gerald McRae stood on the granite steps of Sacred Heart Catholic Church and listened to people read aloud the names of the homeless who died this year.

[Times photo: John Pendygraft] Edward Teatro, 26, lights one of the 49 candles, each representing a homeless person who died in Hillsborough County this year. He, too, is homeless.

Some died naturally, of old age, and were found in a city park. At least two drowned in the bay. Several were hit by trains.

With each name -- there were 49 -- McRae had the same thought.

It could be me.

Forty-nine people, and it's likely many had the same past and the same problems as McRae, who has been homeless since October.

On Friday night, McRae was wearing a Florida Gators T-shirt and carrying a Kash n' Karry plastic bag containing cookies, a banana and a grilled cheese sandwich -- food he hoped would get him through the night at the Salvation Army shelter.

"Survival food," he said.

McRae and dozens of other homeless people who stood on the steps of Sacred Heart to mark National Homeless Memorial Day know a bit about survival.

The Tampa native was kicked out of a friend's mobile home. Before that, he had his own apartment, but it burned down. He's 43, suffers from depression and says he can't work because he has epilepsy.

Many of the homeless men, like McRae, are affable, gentle and well-spoken. None expressed anger about being homeless four days before Christmas, only resignation. One man, Antoni Dziewa, noticed a Times reporter shivering as they stood talking at the church. He offered her his jacket.

That was right after the group sang Silent Night, their voices accompanied by the wail of police sirens.

There are an estimated 5,744 homeless people in Hillsborough County, and 65,597 in the state. The majority -- 46 percent -- are single men between the ages of 18 and 59, just like McRae.

Most of the people who died in Hillsborough were also men. Bruce Dills, Charlie Knowles, Grant Young, Alvin Davis . . . their names were printed on small slips of paper, then attached to a purple ribbon. A candle was lit in memory of each.

"When a homeless person dies, it's just forgotten about," said Bob Haywood, 60. Asked how long he has been homeless, he replied: "Only two years." Then he chuckled. "Only."

James Joyce, the president of the Hillsborough Homeless Coalition, urged people to remember the homeless, both the ones who are living and the ones who have passed away.

He told a chilling story of Pedro, who died on Nov. 10:

Pedro sat on the railroad tracks, drunk and depressed. He was homeless. So were his two drinking buddies.

A train approached. Pedro's two friends got up, but he didn't. They tried to coax him off the tracks, then tried pulling on his arms and chest. He wouldn't move.

Instead, Pedro raised his beer can toward the train.

"He had the resolve that this life he was in was not worth living," said Joyce. "He toasted the end of his life."

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