Seattle Sun Newspaper - Vol. 8, Issue 4, April 2004

Copyright 2004 Seattle Sun. Please feel free to use the article below in your research. Be sure to cite the Seattle Sun as your source.

Mini-park is a home to many 'friends'

By SUSAN PARK

At first glance, a visitor strolling by the Lake City Mini-Park, at the intersection of 30th Avenue NE, NE 125th Street and Lake City Way, would think that the park had become the permanent camp grounds for the homeless.

However, appearances can be deceiving. Most of the dozen or so rough-looking "regulars" actually have homes and jobs, but rather use the park as a hangout, a place to meet with longtime friends and old neighbors and while away the day.

Karen, an attractive 42-year-old, lives in an apartment down the street. "I like coming here, reading my books, doing my puzzles, having a good time," she says. She sits lazily on the covered bench with a beer at her side, taking turns with a man, Phil, whose stomach she pats from time to time. They listen to a battery-powered radio, read newspapers, and talk politics. Everyone I spoke with was surprisingly intelligent and highly informed, chatting ceaselessly of current events, including local politics, the presidential race and the war on Iraq. They worry about terrorism and they worry about where they'll go to get out of the rain when the vault and park shelter are torn down.

"They want to take out that wall, take out these benches," says Karen. "$300,000 to tear this place down? Why?" she asks. She regrets the day they cut off the fountain. "They claim they don't have enough money to fix the gutters and the pipes."

Karen says, when it rains, the roof leaks and the Parks Department hasn't bothered to fix the leaky gutter.

Phil, an army vet from Denver, is officially homeless. After three years in the 8th Infantry division stationed in Badlcreuznach, Germany, he returned home to attend electronics courses at a community college in Denver, then went on to work for the communications industry. He first came to Seattle on a job for a company called Land Mobile, 2-Way Radio. "I was impressed with the climate green in January," he says.

Phil considers himself to be caught in a Catch-22 of work vs. pay. He was laid off from a job and never landed on his feet. He now does day labor for a company whose office is based in Woodinville. He says he has to be careful to not work too much. "Get paid $960, and you don't get any food stamps. Get paid $900 and you get $10 in food stamps, and so on. That's not enough to live on," he says.

"An apartment in Lake City is $895, so there's nothing left," says Karen, referring to a newly constructed apartment building in Lake City she says she helped build.

A young man arrives at the park on a red BMX bicycle and proceeds to say hello to Karen and offer her a cigarette. This is Derek Hunnewell, who shares an apartment with a roommate near Ron Hand Chevron on Lake City Way. At age 19, he's on his own, working for Taco Del Mar in Lake City and paying his own way. Karen laughs: "I used to babysit him; now he looks after my kids."

Jim, a 53-year-old Vietnam vet, says he hasn't worked since "I came back in this mess," referring to the wheelchair he now uses. Although he lives in an apartment near Pike Place Market, he likes to come to Lake City to hang out with his old friends in the neighborhood where he grew up. Jim even had a bank account at the old bank which used to stand where he now spends his days. A remnant of the vault and arched entrance to the old bank add character to the park.

A portable comfort station now sits in the park. Jim remembers when they took it out to deter individuals like himself from hanging out in the park. "You gotta have the porta-potty. You take this out, you'll have (us going) in alleys," he says. Jim already has a hard time fitting in the small plastic room and prefers the high tech toilets that have been installed downtown. "They have money to knock down the walls, but they don't have money for a toilet," he says. Jim remembers when gangs overran the park two years ago dealing crack. At that time, both the payphone and porta potty were removed and the gangs moved on.

Derek says "it would be cheaper for them to put cameras in than tear out the park."

At 5 p.m., more friends return from a hard day's work and congregate at the park, discussing the day over cigarettes and beer. This is their low-cost version of the coffee shop or the neighborhood bar.

I recognize Darryl Blanksley whose wife Rosemarie and he were married in the park in April 2002. "We're still married!" he says proudly. The two share an apartment up the street and will soon be celebrating their two-year anniversary.

His friend, Xavier, reaches into a paper bag full of clothes Karen has been watching all day and pulls out a pair of black pants to change into.

"We take turns watching each other's stuff," says Karen.

Xavier attended classes at Seattle Central Community College for two-and a half years. "My wallet was stolen no I.D., nothing," he says to begin his spiel. "Seriously, can I have two dollars?" he asks and I laugh. Xavier says he usually makes money selling Real Change newspapers.

His thoughts on the City's plans to take out the park, "Why? Because they don't want us homeless people there. What are we going to do?"