The Homeless Count

by Farnoosh Torabi

In the city’s first effort ever to count its homeless, Tribeca would hardly seem a fruitful place to start. But a small quadrant of the neighborhood—bounded by Varick, Hudson, Canal and North Moore—was one of 100 areas picked at random by the Department of Homeless Services (DOHS) for the unusual census.

On Varick Street, the team of volunteer surveyors from the city’s Department of Homeless Services approached a man who appeared to be cold and listless. But his only word to the group was “Chinatown” and after briefly pausing with the group, he continued walking slowly towards Canal Street.

On the frigid night of Feb. 25, five out of nearly 1,000 volunteers walked Tribeca’s streets and alleys, with flashlight, clipboards and phosphorescent pens in hand, to see whom they would find.

They were Team 9, led by Babatunde Salau, who heads a city-run women’s shelter. The group included three DOHS workers, Mark Hurwitz, Rachel Levine and Kristy Cusick, and a former worker, Jill Berry.

Following an hour’s training at the DOH offices, the duties were quickly divided up. Levine was voted the interviewer (“You have a non-threatening presence,” Salau told her). Cusick would be the scribe and Berry the scout. Hurwitz would read the map of Tribeca. “We’re such typical women. We let the men have the map,” noted Levine.

The first rule was to make no assumptions about what a homeless person looks like, but to question every passerby, from those in mink to those without shoes. Around midnight, the streets nearly empty, Levine approached her first interviewee, a man in his thirties wearing a pea coat and Pumas, walking a dog on Beach Street. “I crack under pressure,” she admitted to the crew before approaching him. But the man pleasantly assured her that he was housed in a loft nearby, and bade her good night.

Levine, confident from her success, approached a second man, also walking a dog. “Can I ask you a few questions about your housing status, sir?”

“Are you out of your mind?” he snapped. “I’m with my dog!”
She tried to explain that the rules required her to approach everyone, but her voice weakened as he stomped away. The team tried to reassure the now discouraged Levine. “He’s just rude,” Cusick shouted, so the man would overhear.

Perhaps the nicest of the evening’s encounters were with, well, the homeless.

In a dark corner of the parking lot at West Broadway and North Moore was a large wooden box. Three blankets were laid across it decoratively, like a welcome sign. A pair of sneakers was arranged next to it. Hurwitz approached the box and knocked: “Sorry to wake you up.”

Groans were heard from inside. A man popped out, exclaiming, “Hi guys! I’m Billy!”

Billy said he was a veteran of 25 years in the streets. “I sleep where I find the right spot. Nobody bothers me.”

He refused the team’s offer to take him to a shelter but answered their questions and directed them to some buddies near the Holland Tunnel. “There’s a Spanish guy over by the walkbridge,” he said. The group thanked him. Billy said he was happy to help. “God bless you,” he called after them. “And be safe!”

Sure enough, the team found Billy’s friend asleep in a cardboard box, but none of them spoke enough Spanish to conduct the survey. “Buenos noches,” said Hurwitz on leaving. “He seems okay.”

The group quickly huddled near a man standing listlessly on Varick Street, near Laight. He had no coat, only a hooded sweatshirt, and carried a load of stuffed plastic bags. He looked lost and cold. “Do you speak English?” asked Hurwitz. The man stared back blankly. Eventually he whispered, “Chinatown,” and walked slowly north.
The team found Billy living in a parking lot. Volunteers walk down North Moore Street.
Volunteers walk down North Moore Street. They are, from left, Kristy Cusick, Rachel Levine, Jill Berry, Mark Hurwitz, and Babatunde Salau.

By a little after 1 a.m. the team had covered its assigned territory. They drove to Lafayette and White streets, and conducted a final interview with a blonde woman walking down Worth near the Javits Federal Building. She wore high leather boots and a black wool coat and clutched a Louis Vuitton purse. “I’m not homeless, if that’s what you’re asking!” she laughed. “What are you doing out here at this hour?” The group wondered the same about her.

The Department of Homeless Services declared the night a success, with 12 homeless people around Manhattan requesting shelter, and an “exceptional” turnout of volunteers that gathered much new data. Team 9 had done its part, though they found just three homeless people and interviewed only a handful of others.

By 1:47 a.m., after two hours, they gave up on the venture originally scheduled to take as much as four. Here, near the eastern edge of Tribeca, it was cold and desolate. Only the swoosh of ski coats could be heard as the team walked the empty streets.

“There’s no sign of life here,” said Hurwitz, as he herded the group back to the Jeep to take them home.