A day on the streets: A world of sore feet, sweat, boredom and anger
Sat, Oct 21, 2006

By Jeff Hansel

The Post-Bulletin 

LIVING ON THE EDGE
It's only 9 a.m., but already Jesse Robertson has begun wiping sweat from his brow and neck with an ever-refolded napkin.

Today, the temperature will reach into the upper 90s.

Robertson spends much of his time just walking around, purposely spacing tasks to take up as much of his day as possible.

Homeless, jobless and two credits shy of a high school diploma, Robertson has taken refuge at Dorothy Day Hospitality House, Rochester's shelter for homeless adults and, occasionally, their children.

Each person gets to stay up to 14 days at a time. It's July 31 and Robertson, 19, is a week into his allotment. He wants to find a permanent job in Rochester.

"The first day I was here, I ended up walking around for three nights straight and ended up getting blisters on my feet. Dorothy Day House was full and I couldn't get in at the time," says Robertson as he starts his daily journey along Rochester trails and streets.

He had nothing to wear but shorts and a T-shirt when he arrived in Rochester from Winona. Even in summer, "about 3 o'clock in the morning, you can get pretty cold if you're just sitting outside doing nothing," he says.

During those three nights, he strolled from place to place -- the Peace Plaza, Silver Lake and the Civic Center -- "just to make time go by." Two Parks and Recreation rangers told him after hours to leave Silver Lake.

He says he left home, this time, because he couldn't get along with his mother and stepfather.

"I didn't tell my mom where I was going. I told her I was leaving. But I didn't tell her where," he says.

Somewhere, he also has a biological father.

"The last time I saw him, I was 10 months old. I'm not even sure he's still alive," Robertson says, as he follows a walking path toward the southeast side of town. He's on his way by foot to pick up an application for an overnight shelf-stocking job at Cub Foods. He's walking from Dorothy Day, three blocks west of Mayo Clinic's Gonda Building, to the grocery store -- nearly two miles away.

Before coming to Rochester, Robertson moved in with a friend in Winona and started work as a die caster. But when he showed up late for work after missing the deadline to call in, he was fired.

He explains that he couldn't find a ride that day, which made him late -- because he had to walk. Soon after, he was homeless again.

Optimism tinged with worry

On this day, he's optimistic he'll get a new job in Rochester. Then he can "hopefully get up enough courage to talk to my uncle and hopefully save up enough money to get my own place." Until then, if he gets a job first, he wants to live with his uncle.

Robertson could ask to move in with his uncle now, before he has a job. But the Rochester man doesn't even know Robertson is in Rochester, or that he is staying at a shelter for homeless people.

"I don't like to push my problems on other people," Robertson says.

He wants a job that pays a good wage. His last one paid $9.57 an hour, he says. He's not sure what kind of apartment he'll be able to afford. He's never looked for one in Rochester before.

"Probably the range I'd be looking at would be $250 to $300 a month," he says.

Navigating the streets can be unpredictable. The 19-year-old says he's sometimes too trusting and talks with people before he gets to know them. If he has money, he says, and someone asks him for a dollar or two for a can of soda, he'll give what he has.

But he avoids trouble -- like when a man asked him to help buy a pain-pill prescription refill (so he could split it up and sell the pills as street drugs). Robertson says he wants nothing to do with that.

During the week, he eats free lunch at the Salvation Army. He skips lunch on weekends, because he doesn't know where the two churches are that serve it. But the shelter, on both weekdays and weekends, usually has fruit and other snacks available when it re-opens at 4 p.m. (overnight guests must leave each day by 9 a.m.).

Robertson takes a seat at a bench within sight of the Salvation Army around 10:45 a.m. He's been walking for nearly three hours.

A gusty wind dries his sweat and helps cool him as he takes a pen from his pocket. He opens the first of two applications he picked up during the morning; one from Cub Foods, and one from SuperAmerica. Scrolled across the top of the first application is the phrase, "Join a Winning Team." That's exactly what Robertson says he wants to do.

Robertson, and the homeless population he has become part of, fit into daily life almost unnoticed by most people in Rochester. The rhythmic sound of tires rolling over nearby railroad tracks are background noise as Robertson rests on the bench and begins filling out the application as people stroll by, most without noticing him.

He waits for lunch at this spot so he doesn't stand out.

"I'm kind of reluctant to have people know that I'm homeless," he says.

'People kind of shy away'

Often, he feels pigeonholed by others. People assume he's up to something, or stealing, he says.

"I get that a lot from everybody when I'm walking around town. I wave and try to be nice, but people kind of shy away from me," he says. When he's alone, he says, he thinks about "where to go, what to do." Then, with a self-conscious smile, he adds, "girls."

Around him, life goes on.

A Rochester City Lines bus roars past after stopping at the railroad tracks. The bus sign spells the destination -- Silver Lake. A woman engrossed in conversation with a companion pushes a stroller along the other side of the street.

Few people say hello to Robertson, even when he greets them.

He doesn't want much -- just a place to live, a car, a job.

"It sucks, walking around with no money in your pocket, walking around in the heat," he says.

Minutes later, Robertson is at the Salvation Army for lunch when a man confronts him, accusing him of stealing $6 from "my (street) brother."

The disturbance quelled, Robertson skips lunch and disappears, resurfacing later at Dorothy Day. He just doesn't like that kind of situation, he says, alleging that the man's acquaintance gave him the money willingly.

A couple of weeks later, the man who confronted Robertson says: "It's just $6. It might not seem like a lot of money. But when you're on the street it is."

Robertson is gone, the man says.

"I took care of him."