Homeless in America: Getting by on Chess and Goodwill as the Recession Bears Down

Garland "Jo Jo" Jones likes to keep Washington's Dupont Circle Park clean. He takes it upon himself to pick up the trash left by passers-by and those who frequent the chess tables in the circle, where he is a familiar face. With a trash grabber in one hand and a large trashcan in the other, he patrols the area near the tables, which are renowned for the caliber of games played there. He has been coming to the park, a busy urban hub, for more than two decades, but spends more time here now that he is homeless.

Though statistics do not show that the recession has led to a significant increase in the number of homeless Americans, Jones says he had been getting by on odd jobs at construction sites until the commercial and residential housing bubbles burst. An ex-con, he was living in a halfway house and putting 25 percent of his pay toward rent, but when the recession hit, his source of income disappeared. Before long, he was on the streets.

"It was a headache. It was just too much," says Jones, 51. He spends most of his time at the park now, where he plays chess to make quick cash. Most games have small wagers, $1 to $5. Jones is apparently skilled at chess: He estimates his income at $50 to $100 a week, which he uses for food, cigarettes and beer.

Satisfied that the chess area is once again clean, Jones retires to the center of the circle, where his base camp is set up: a folding chair, a boom box that plays R&B hits from the ''70s and a water cooler into which people pour the ice from their drinks, to be shared among the homeless as cold water once it melts. Jones says he provides these amenities out of a desire to see the park kept civilized and hospitable.

Dupont Circle Park takes its name from the traffic circle it sits in the center of. The circle has also lent its name to the surrounding neighborhood of late 19^th century mansions and rowhouses. Think tanks and nonprofits are clustered in the area, giving it an educated and bohemian quality. The park itself is the frequent staging ground of political rallies of various sorts.

The men who crowd around the chess tables come from all walks of life: Chess masters who seem to do nothing but play all day, white-collar professionals looking for a quick game after work, and chess sharks looking to hustle a few quick games. Among the homeless, the code governing conduct at the tables is fairly straightforward – what you have, you share. The conversation is often loud and uproarious, and mock insults flow back and forth.

The National Alliance to End Homelessness estimates that there are nearly 700,000 homeless people in the United States, 77 percent of them in urban areas. That number is down somewhat from early 2005 but up from a count taken in 2008 by the Department of Housing and Urban Development. And the actual number of Americans who experienced homelessness at least once during the last year is believed to be much larger -- 1.6 million people.

For some, like Jones, who are without an advanced education or professional certification, the fall was quick. But most, like Richard Embden, have problems that go beyond the lack of affordable housing.

Originally from Queens, N.Y., Embden, has a bachelor's degree and 13 years' experience as a computer consultant. He dresses fairly preppy, and at first glance he easily could be mistaken as one of the white-collar professionals who frequent the park on their lunch break. Only the battered plastic flip-flops give him away -- that and the 10 or so bags that contain all of his worldly belongings and sit next to him on a park bench.

A job making $60,000 a year with telecommunications equipment maker Lucent Technologies disappeared when the company's stock plummeted in 2000. He took a steep pay cut at his next job -- a nonprofit where as a certified technical trainer he made $30,000 a year teaching Microsoft Office to mothers trying to get off of welfare rolls. The program ultimately was deemed unsuccessful.

"They're telling the government that they're going to take the folks off the welfare rolls and make them computer technicians and computer gurus," Embden says ruefully of the program. "It's great in theory, but the problem is that these people can't read well enough to pass the test. You've got to be able to read the instructions to understand what they're asking you to do."

Embden held a series of jobs after that --suicide hotline operator, computer consultant, telecommunications contractor. But each job paid less and less and offered fewer and fewer hours. A move to D.C. to work in the wireless industry helped for a while, but when the work finally slowed to nothing and there was no more money for rent, Embden found himself out on the street after a nephew he had been living with kicked him out. That was three years ago.

"We got into an argument over something. He felt like he had done enough, which he had, no question about it," Embden says.

An earlier acrimonious divorce with his wife, now a college professor, ended with her taking full custody of their two children, a boy and a girl. Today they are 12 and 8 years old, respectively. He hasn't seen them in five years. It's here that Embden's otherwise matter-of-fact accounting of his slide to the streets slows and his voice breaks. "That's the only thing that hurts really," he says, tears running down his face. He says he is beyond feelings of shame and embarrassment for all of the indignities that come with life on the streets.

"I went through depression. I worked on a suicide hotline, and part of the time I worked for them I was suicidal," he notes, once again calm and self-assured. "I know that my heavenly father, he's got my back. I dwell with him. I abide with him."

Indicating with a sweep of his hand the expanse of the park and the homeless men who are awaking from an uncomfortable night's sleep on the benches, he says, "I'm not worried about this. It's going to turn around."

While Embden continues to actively search for a job, he hawks street newspapers for the nonprofit Street Sense. Street newspapers focus on poverty, homelessness and often contain articles written by homeless people. They are a means for the homeless to earn a small income without resorting to panhandling. Vendors ask for a $1 donation for each paper and must adhere to a vendor code of conduct, which includes not selling the papers when under the influence of drugs or alcohol.

Like Jones and many other homeless men, Embden is drawn to the chess tables of Dupont Circle for the judgment-free camaraderie they offer to men like him. His is a regular face at the tables and he is greeted by name. Since becoming homeless, Embden has gained a reputation among others at the park as a bit of a community activist. He attends strategy sessions of the People for Fairness Coalition Street Crisis Team, a group that advocates on behalf of the homeless in Washington. Meetings are held at Miriam's Kitchen, a soup kitchen that provides a daily breakfast to hundreds of the homeless.

Miriam's Kitchen has been serving free meals for more than 25 years now. In March, it received national attention when First Lady Michelle Obama visited and helped serve lunch. The organization focuses chiefly on providing a nutritious breakfast daily (no doughnuts allowed!) but also offers case management services and an after-breakfast program with group activities.

"A lot of the folks that we serve are chronically homeless," said Executive Director Scott Schrenkelberg, adding that the issues many of them face -- substance abuse, mental health issues -- predate the recession. The soup kitchen has not experienced increased demand for its services since the downturn began, in part because of a housing program for the chronically homeless begun under Washington Mayor Adrian Fenty, says Schrenkelberg. But the food outreach program, which serves an average of 200 people a day, is bracing for those numbers to go up as the effects of the recession trickle down. Miriam's plans to offer a free daily dinner program in 2010.

It also has several major fundraising initiatives planned. Corporate donations have been seriously impacted by the recession, but Miriam's is more fortunate than other nonprofits in that corporate gifts and government grants do not make up the majority of its $1.2 million annual budget.

"We are fortunate, though, that a number of individuals have made up that difference," says Schrenkelberg, adding that in times of severe economic need, those who give to charity are more likely to target their donations to organizations, such as soup kitchens, that provide the essentials to those most vulnerable.

It is dusk now in the park at Dupont Circle. A small group of regulars plays cards. A few chess games are going. In the center of the park, an open-mike night sponsored by a poetry group is underway. Nearby, a group of drummers from an all-female percussion band, resplendently outfitted in white, black and red dresses, prepares to march down one of the streets that emerge from the traffic circle like bike spokes.

Looking out on this scene from his folding chair at the center of the park, Jones is quiet as he considers the uncertainties of this night and of all the other nights that lie before him.

"When I lay down, I lay down. God guides me, he tells me where to lay down," he says. "The streets are going to kill me sooner or later, I do know that. I'm going to take it like a man. I face reality."

But on a night like this, with so much going on and the park filled with people from all walks of life and cultures, the fears of winter's cold creep, of not enough food or shelter, are held at bay for now.