COLUMBIA, SC (WIS) - With nothing but a mini-camera, the clothes on my back, and a beard 5 days in the making, it begins: my attempt to blend-in with Columbia's homeless, hear their stories, learn more, and get a sense of their struggle.
I check in at the Oliver Gospel Mission, a men's shelter and my home for the next 3 days. The staff has been expecting me, but the men who stay here do not.
Like anyone seeking help, I'm taken to a cramped office tucked away upstairs. If the walls in this office could talk, the stories would crush you.
With all of life's safety nets exhausted, broken men show up here. It's Jeremy Laughead's job to listen.
"We had a guy who was in the 'Hand Up' program who was homeless for a very long time and he said because he was mad at God," said Laughead. "He had given up hope."
Laughead tells stories of men who have lost hope since the Great Recession. They tell of lost jobs, lost homes, and broken families. It's the bottom of the barrel and it leads many to life on the streets for the first time in their lives.
I finally get time to sit down for a hot meal at the soup cellar at Washington Street Methodist Church. Like many discussions at any family dinner table, the conversation quickly turns to the economy.
I ask the men what it's going to take to turn things around in this country. Dave perks up and responds with a laugh.
"Washington politics," he says. "Get rid of everybody and start over again."
Over egg salad sandwiches, soup, and slices of cake, I learn one of my lunch friends lost his job painting in Summerville. The other guy to my right is fresh off a 4-year prison sentence. His sex offender status isn't helping matters.
"I'm on probation with a monitor," he says, "that limits things I can do."
Despite his limits, he assures his job search will start the next day.
After lunch, I have time to kill before the line forms for dinner back at Oliver Gospel at 4:30 p.m. Doing nothing, I am told, is part of this life. Boredom sets in.
Later, I meet someone who refuses to sit. If hope had an identity, I'm convinced it's him. His name is Donald.
Last year, Donald moved back to South Carolina to be near family. He had no job and very little money. The only thing he has is determination. And it pays off 2 weeks later with a job offer.
"My shift had me working from midnight to 8:00 a.m.," said Donald.
Facing third shift, no car, and no bus routes that late, Donald was close to walking away. That is, until he walked into Oliver Gospel. They offered him a place to stay within walking distance to work.
"Once you get out there and try, you got to make every effort to help yourself," said Donald.
Helping yourself is the mission of Oliver Gospel's "Hand Up" initiative. It's a growing program aimed at finding job and teaching some of the skills to keeping jobs. Two years ago, two men graduated. Last year, over two dozen graduated.
Laughead says the motivation behind those graduation rates is simple. "They want to get out," he says.
Time is of the essence. Oliver Gospel has 2 months to get men jobs. After that, their chances of staying homeless forever skyrockets. But motivation is all around.
For Donald, keeping his head up by looking down paid off. He's now in his own apartment, still walking to work, but looking to buy a car soon.
"Donald has determination," said Laughead. "Donald decided when he got here that he wasn't gonna stay here."
With a smile on his face, Donald left behind a life he never wants to return to.
Meanwhile, a line forms outside the Oliver Gospel Mission. It's almost dinner time and the homeless men are racing to be first in line to eat a free meal. This, to me, is the first scary and sad view of a world I'm just beginning to see.
I'm told by Oliver Gospel staffers that this is more of a hunger for attention and a desire to be heard.
"Out on the streets, people will cross over the street to get away from them," said Laughead. "In here, they are valued as anybody else who walks in that door."
Walking in Oliver Gospel Mission, eating and sleeping here must be earned. If you want two meal tickets for the next day, attending chapel is required.
As life races by outside, inside, minds are calmed and hearts begin to be healed. I begin to see with my own eyes the transformation process this place is known for.
In many cases, finding a job is half the battle. Instilling and nurturing a sense of purpose keeps men from coming back. It strikes me during service that shelters like this are telling men they are worthy when in so many corners of their lives they've been told they aren't worthy.
"Everybody deserves respect and that dignity," said Laughead. "It is remarkable how much the little things change people. As small as the way you turn the lights on in the morning and the way you greet people when they come in."
The treatment men get here comes with rules. These strict guidelines, I hear from some homeless men, keep them away. Violence, smoking, and drinking, to name a few, could lead to a lifetime ban.
Breathalyzers ensure not a drop of alcohol is in anyone's system. Anything other than a zero-point-zero and you're out.
It's my turn to take the test. I blow a deep breath into the device. It reads zero, of course. I'm in for the night.
The lights go out at 10:00 p.m. and they come back on at 5:30 a.m. Breakfast is at 6:00 a.m. After that, it's back on the streets.
It's nice being out early. I may be homeless, but I'm not hopeless. Many men are hopeless, but at least shelters like Oliver Gospel Mission are showing them there is hope. And that's a good thing.
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