by Jack Bragen
When I was young, in my 20s, I took pride in being able to get letters to the editor published. For a young adult with severe psychiatric illness, a letter to the editor in a paper is pretty good, but I wanted more. I really wanted to become a writer. Occasionally I submitted stories to publications, and considering the level of the writing I produced back then, I stood little or no chance of getting something accepted.
I got married in my 30s. Often, I would drive my wife to places, and I would sit in the car and wait for her. At one point, my wife wanted to visit the animal shelter and spend time with the animals there.
The old animal shelter, probably built in the 1950s, in the Pacheco-Concord-Martinez area was a flat, plain-looking building on the same road as a wastewater treatment facility, which reminded me of a jail. Later I learned from a television news story that the animal shelter was a repurposed detention center.
My wife had some works published in Street Spirit, an East Bay-based street newspaper, and I envied her for that. But while I sat in the car in the parking lot of the now torn-down animal shelter, an idea sparked in my mind for a personal essay about it, a personal essay. Because the animal shelter resembled a detention center, and I’ve been jailed before, I was inspired to write that story.
In 2001, I was finally a published author.
The street papers, for many years, have provided me with a unique opportunity that would be impossible to find elsewhere. If I was Joe Coffee Bean, with no disability, and worked as a Starbuck’s manager, nonetheless, if I had writing aspirations, Street Papers would not be an opportunity.
As good as my writing is, there must be some kind of angle to be published with a newspaper or magazine. Mine with street papers is that I live with a severe disability, and I am poor as dirt. And I truly appreciate street papers like Street Sheet, which gave me a chance.
The street papers give me a voice, and I can talk about the hardships of being mentally ill and for the most part of being unable to work a conventional job. And I can talk of people more unfortunate than me. And I can voice my outrage about how badly mentally ill people are dealt with.
At one point, I was at a Starbuck’s when my wife shopped nearby, and a homeless man with a bicycle was present. I ended up sharing an outdoor table with him. He didn’t know that I was listening closely and thinking of getting a story about him. I didn’t tell him because I feared he would be offended. He believed I was just some guy willing to talk to him. He asked for one of my cigarettes, and I was happy to part with it. This became an article that the Street Spirit editor titled: “Coffee and Conversation with a Homeless Man.”
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In the 1990s, I was friends with a woman who lived in her van. I allowed her to sleep in my apartment. She said she appreciated the “hands off” approach. Do unhoused women routinely get propositioned for sex in exchange for a place to sleep? Apparently so, but that’s too big a question to talk about in this article. But I appreciated hearing that, because she was telling me that I had done something right.
Her name was Suzanne. She encouraged me to write and identify myself as a writer. I was 30 years old and had not yet been published. She had a pre-teen daughter who by now is probably in her thirties if not older.
Later I had a falling-out with Suzanne. But that doesn’t erase the positive interactions that existed earlier.
Last year, when the Street Spirit lost its funding, its director did a huge favor and got me in with Street Sheet in San Francisco. I am a newcomer to Street Sheet. But I get paid a little bit, and this matters for numerous reasons. Yet if this kind of newspaper wasn’t a special situation of being written by and for homeless and disadvantaged people, throngs of aspiring authors would be trying to get work into the paper, and the paper would not bother to pay the authors.
But also, to function and bring in readers, a newspaper or magazine has to have something going for it. By paying the authors, the Street Sheet has a method of securing work from talented writers who consistently send good work.
When someone is living in the margins, being published matters. A lot. It brings a compensatory factor to a life that might otherwise seem pitiful. And being paid for my work matters. A lot.
In 1989, my psychiatric condition was worsening. Part of this was caused by situations of literal hard knocks. Additionally, I was burning out from working at jobs while taking high dosages of antipsychotics—a monumental effort.
I never would have guessed 35 years ago that a street paper, Street Sheet, would be founded, and that at age 60, I would be a frequent contributor.
I have to thank the many who have helped me. Street papers for me have been a beacon of hope and an activity that keeps me out of trouble. And because of the rigors of the work, my writing level is improving, which I hope will increase my prospects in the future.
Jack Bragen lives and writes in Martinez, California. In addition to contributing pieces to Street Sheet and Street Spirit, he is also the author of Instructions for Dealing with Schizophrenia: A Self-Help Manual and other books.
