Homeless In America: Tom Stone's Photography: American Poverty

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Homeless In America

Tom Stone's Photography: American Poverty

This photo essay is about the homeless in America. Once you've seen these black and white images of homeless people, from the documentary photographer, Tom Stone, you'll never forget them.

Look into the eyes of your brothers and sisters in the images below. Some eyes still have hope, some are brimming over with pain or anger, and some look past you to a world only they know.

While you view these images of the homeless, put yourself in their place. Will you ever be the same? How will you be different?

Tom Stone

In his own words

i photograph people who skirt the edges of things; people whose connection to the broader flow is murky or obscured. mistaken as more, less or different than they are; they aren't really seen and don't really belong. that's everyone sometimes; but some more often. i try to establish a line for a moment. i hope to connect. and i see the most beautiful and the most heartbreaking things.

From Tom Stone Gallery.

Tom Stone is a graduate of Harvard University with a degree in Computer Science, he worked in Silicon Valley for a number of years in investment banking and in the technology industry. He is a documentary photographer known for his portraits of people living along the edges of society. His photography shares perspective with the work of Dorothea Lange, Richard Avedon, Diane Arbus and Sebastião Salgado.

Walk A Mile In My Shoes

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American Poverty

by Tom Stone

All images are from American Poverty, a set of 190 photographs of the homeless and poor in San Francisco. Ten images are presented below along with Tom's commentary about each one.

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indelible

homeless kat from marin. kat has a cart and has been rapidly culling the trash cans for recycling. she has a doll around her neck; its arms in a constant embrace.

i find myself staring. she reminds me of someone.

sadie

she's not as drunk as she pretends. and she's smarter than she lets on. the older boy next to her is just as drunk as he looks. they met earlier over a can of beer.

her name is sadie; from "everywhere." well, from chico really. but she doesn't live there anymore. mom kicked her out. says mom's a "tweaker and a drunk."

been getting around mostly by hitching. some trains too; but not so much. talks about places she's been to recently; and places she's going.

the boy has a big smile on his face. says "ain't she beautiful!" like he's still figuring his luck.

"yes," i respond.

a new life

homeless woman "zebe like zebra" from san diego. came to sf about eight years ago to "start a new life."

says she recently got thrown in jail for drinking in public and therefore lost all her government benefits. when asked if she has any friends: "i have no friends. i'm all alone."

as i was leaving: "thank you for taking my picture. i love you."

reduced

homeless rebecca from detroit. rebecca doesn't fit. as though she's not where she's supposed to be. i see her as i pass. she is almost ghostly. she sways and bends like the only tree on a hill; unprotected. she seems resigned to a losing battle.

she is panhandling as i pass. or she is praying or mourning. but she is not seen. i turn the corner and watch her for a moment. she grimaces her mouth as though swallowing some new resignation and moves away from the season's passing throng; in my direction, but floating by. i seem to snap a trance when i say hello.

she's been homeless since 1998. she sleeps sometimes in shelters. but says there's not enough beds for women. the men have many more. she went to the shelter this afternoon to put her name in for a bed this evening. there's a lottery, and she didn't get one.

says she has no family and no children. she's the only one. but she has one girlfriend who got a place from the city finally after years. says she's trying to stay there with her friend tonight, if she can make up the guest fee. she's about a third of the way. it's been cold and she clearly doesn't want to be on the street tonight.

she was an accountant not so long back. she had a good job. she worked for kgo. but in '98, they were downsizing her group and she was let go. she thought she'd get another job easy. but she never did. they all wanted someone younger. and now she's 54, and says it's too late for her.

broken down

homeless john from canada sitting next to his broken down wheelchair near the civic center. he has a white and blue blanket covering his legs. though out of sight, they're clearly small, barely registering below. almost as though his waist is poking out of some pond or hole. and he barely moves, frozen there.

i can only see the corner of his eye as i pass. i return a few moments later. i ask if i can take his picture, but he says "i'd rather not be seen like this" and smiles surprisingly, painfully. then says "i'm sorry."

i tell him i only want to shoot his face. "you can do that then. but why would you want to take a picture of me?"

"your eyes", i respond.

john had polio as a child and then meningitis. and the polio recurred later. his legs have gotten worse and worse over the years. especially from neglect more recently. he says they seem to get worse almost daily. he was a teacher once, but that didn't pay.

he's been sitting here since yesterday when his motorized wheelchair broke down. a "nice ladycop" came by that day and tried to help him get a manual wheelchair, but she could only find one for $60 a week. he won't have his benefits check until next week. he thinks she'll come by again today. he's waiting.

sixteen dollars

he's pushing a tall square cart down the sidewalk. he looks through me, and i smile unobserved for a breath along my way.

"come over here son" he says looking away. i return.

his name is william "from carolina."

says "i just got out of the VA hospital and could use a place to stay." been sleeping in doorways on market street. "could use a hood too" something warm for my head.

he lost his hotel room while he was in the hospital. he's waiting for the first of may; to get his $900 labor union retirement check and then he'll get a new place; pay for the whole month. he'll have $250 left over to live; after the $650 he pays with his senior discount.

77 years old he says, like it's news to him.

his oldest brother was 77 when he died. william is the yougest of four brothers and the only one left. the only one of the family left. "lord will take me when he chooses."

all the brothers volunteered for the army and went to war. william had to wait until he was old enough. he joined when he turned seventeen; to support his mom. she got $16 dollars for each of her sons each month they fought. $64 for all of them.

for william, nearly one dollar paid per year of rearing. for his older brothers less.

he tells me of his one older brother who reenlisted for a second tour and was "blown to pieces" straight away. william was given a pistol and sent home with the casket and an order that it not be opened.

william got out better. a bullet in the leg. still walks with a limp and often a cane. but he walks.

"doctors said i'd never walk again. but i prayed."

come undone

homeless roberto from el salvador. has been homeless for about seven years; when he lost his job at sfo. he tells of losing his long battle with alcoholism which he's waged from his first drink at 14. he's 60.

listening to him, roberto is clearly well educated and particularly well spoken. you might think you were speaking with a professor, if not for the other two senses which indicate otherwise.

he says he has a job waiting for him if he's able to clean himself up. but he'd have to exorcise his demons, and then he'd have to LITERALLY clean himself up. and, as he says, it would be no small task to fix his appearance and get appropriate clothing, etc. but he's confident he'll make it.

he tells me stories of his life of privilege as a youth, of countless setbacks and subsequent successes. he tells me of the day his son was shot dead at 17 on the streets of el salvador.

he says he gets seizures now, but his head isn't bleeding and scabbed because of that. he didn't fall and hit it. he was scratching it because it really itched; and he must have scratched it raw.

furtive distraction

...homeless ray; he really wanted to chat, but wouldn't look directly at me; he'd make quick head snap movements from left to right (and vice versa) to see me and would at best look at me peripherally through one eye (head cocked); he walked with me for about a block after this picture was taken, chattily exhibiting this behavior.

on the road

gabriel from portland sitting on the sidewalk panhandling. traveling the west coast. when he goes back to portland, figures he'll get "some sorta mill job"

gabriel's return

In Memoriam

...it's 12:31 pm. march 2. 2007.
it's hard to breathe sometimes as the pulse races. or do i just forget to?
the subject line reads "on the road boy"
"i know the boy... he never made it through the year"

...it's 5:59 pm. april 24. 2006. should it be this cold?
he's sitting on the corner. like it's his. he's panhandling.
waiting for a friend to bring back food.
i sit beside him.

as people pass, he's always noticed. some stop. some continue.
we talk about the road. about home. about life. about girls.
he's gentler than you'd think. more interested in things you say. and he cares more too.

he's not sure what's next; but says now's good.
his friend returns.

...it's october 17. 2006.
it's his gun.
it's his choice.
farewell.

gabriel joshua wolrab, may 3, 1985 - october 17, 2006.

for his mother, his sisters, his brothers, his friends

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(this photo was shot immediately prior to the original one posted) [previous photograph, "on the road"]

Tom Stone Interview

A twenty-minute interview discussing some of his photographs.

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