Homelessness

Audio & Visual Design

Designing Holistic Sensory Experiences within Environments

A thesis submitted to the School of Visual Communication Design, College of Communication and Information of Kent State University in partial fulfllment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Fine Arts by Terran Washington May 2020 Thesis written by Terran Washington B.F.A., Kent State University, 2012 M.F.A., Kent State University, 2020

Approved by

Jessica Barness, M.F.A., Advisor, Assistant Professor, School of Visual Communication Design

Daniel Alenquer, M.F.A., Interim Director and Associate Professor, School of Visual Communication Design

Amy Reynolds, P.h.D., Dean, College of Communication and Information 3

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements ...... iv List of Figures ...... v Abstract ...... 1 Introduction ...... 2 Why Are Students Homeless ...... 3 Primary Research: Auto-ethnography ...... 6 Why I was homeless ...... 7 Duration of my homelessness ...... 10 Art Building Grad studio/ Second foor Art history grad studio ....11 Campus Library ...... 17 Tacobell ...... 20 Design Studio ...... 22 Mercury Grand Marquis: My mobile home ...... 25 Laundromat ...... 29 Park Bench ...... 31 Sleeping on friends’ couches ...... 33 Hygiene ...... 37 Day-to-Day Mental Health ...... 39 Social life ...... 42 Teaching ...... 43 Pride: Why I didn’t ask for help ...... 43 Auto-ethnography: Refection ...... 46 Visual refection ...... 47 How can universities help ...... 49 Conclusion ...... 52 Appendice ...... 53 References ...... 55 1

Abstract

This thesis research will investigate the ways university administration can better prepare their campuses for the ever-growing number of homeless college students. The goal is to define design-driven frameworks that will assist universities in their decision making. Auto-ethnography, a form of qualitative research, will be used to illustrate the day-today life of a homeless student at a rural university. This investigation will be used to gain insights into the needs and struggles homeless students experience while on their journey. Interviews with provincial university administration gain insight into how they are currently helping this population. A comparative analysis was administered to investigate the difference in the university experience of homeless students versus non-homeless students. National shelter initiatives were examined in hopes of gaining a full understanding of current national frameworks.

Introduction

As the number of homeless students ramped up in the course of the second half

th of the 20 century, homelessness emerged as an unignorable aspect of life in the United States. Mainly, homelessness is considered as a consequence of poor work ethic, personal choices, or as a response to or a symptom of more intricate social problems. Notably, approximately 1.2 million enrolled in public school are homeless (National Association for the Education of Homeless Children and Youth, 2014). According to the US Department of Education (2015), about 2% to 3% of the 50 million

th students enrolled in kindergarten through 12 grade schools in the US are homeless. Nevertheless, other approximations reveal that as many as 2 million students in the United States struggle with homelessness every year, and this is a clear indication that these estimates may be much higher (Ammerman et al. 2004). The rates of homelessness among students have risen to 72% from the onset of the economic recession of 2008 (National Center for Homeless Education, 2014). And, these rates have gone up by about 10% since the start of the 2011/2012 school year. These trends indicate, homelessness among students is an unprecedented, growing, and pervasive problem in America. Ammerman et al., (2004), documented that even though homeless students encounter countless barriers to success, they get far fewer societal and economic support compared to the homeless adults. Further, in comparison to the peers who are non-homeless, students who are homeless are much more likely to post poor academic performance and receive education support (Murphy and Tobin, 2011). Buckner, Bassuk, and Weinreb (2001), asserted that less than 25% of the homeless students graduate from high school, close to 42% are at risk of failing a class, and 45% repeat a grade or two. What’s more, a considerable percentage of the students who are homeless miss approximately three weeks of school every year, and this to a large extent fragments their education process (Pavlakis, A. E. (2018). These estimates 3 are without a doubt alarming and something needs to be done. It is important to note that student homelessness is not a standardized experience. In the context of a student, some may come from a family that has just lost their home as a result of reduced or lack of income, unexpected tragedy, or recent trauma. These families may be living with other people on a temporary basis, in shelters or motels, on the streets, or even out of their cars. Still, others may simply be “unaccompanied”, on their own without an iota of hope for any support from an adult. This paper explores student homelessness in the United States unravelling what student homelessness entails, who constitute this group, the reasons for their homelessness and whether universities across the country have policies in place to help these students.

Why Are Students Homeless

First, the common reason for students’ homeless is as a result of poverty (Wong et al., 2009). Families laden in poverty are vulnerable to become homeless. According to Miller, (2009), their lower than enough stores of economic capital are followed by limited networks of resourceful relations or social capital, to assist them cope with tough economic times. According to Burt (2001), homelessness has been worsened by lack of adequate affordable housing. Besides, as explained by Kuhn and Culhane (1998), disadvantaged families struggle with disproportionately high rates of trauma, accidents, and health-related issues, which exacerbates the chances of forced residential mobility. As affordable housing options and jobs have declined in the past couple of years, more and more personal susceptibilities have become more apparent, leading to the highest family— and eventually— student homelessness in history.

What’s more, similarly to children in homeless families, unaccompanied homeless students are often homeless for reasons that are over and beyond their control. Factors such as conflict within the family, sexual, emotional, and physical harassment mainly leave the youths with only one option of leaving their home and living on their own (Duffield, 2001). Even though most unaccompanied students have it rough in schools, the majority have been found to be independent, intelligent, and highly adaptive in the society in the face of highly harsh conditions (Reed-Victor & Stronge, 2002). Primarily, youths the gay, lesbian, or bisexual seem to be excessively vulnerable to homelessness. Research drawn from homelessness revealed that LGBTQ students were overrepresented in most studies (National Alliance to End Homelessness 2020). Additionally, LGBTQ students also experience an augmented vulnerability of facing victimization and discrimination in not only community setting but also schools (Bontempo, and d’Augelli, 2002). 5

Specific social variables can also expose students at increased risk for homelessness. The students at risk are those who face problems at home, are socioeconomically deprived, and are placed in foster care (Shelton, Taylor, Bonner, & van den Bree, 2009). In a specific research of 692 homeless youths aged 12–20 years, greater than 70% of the participants indicated conflict with parents as a crucial reason for leaving home (Rosenthal, Mallett, & Myers, 2006). Students showing school adjustment difficulties including disciplinary problems and deplorable academic achievement are also more probable than those who do well in school to be homeless (Van den Bree, Moss, & Taylor 2009). Even though most students face homelessness for a limited period, prior to getting back on their feet, for some, the state of homelessness happens intermittently, or grows into a chronic situation. Whichever the case, homelessness is extremely detrimental to a student's ability to stay in school and on track. They are likely to repeat a grade, register extremely low attendance or fail courses. These adverse effects worsen the longer a student is homeless.

Primary Research: Auto-ethnography

Autoethnography is a qualitative research method that seeks to understand cultural experiences by combining the characteristics of autobiography and ethnography (Ellis, Carolyn, ). This emerging method allows researchers to use personal accounts, expression, and nontraditional forms of inquiry, to extend understanding about a societal phenomenon (Wall, Sarah). My ‘lived experience’ was conducted over a 250 day period, August 30 2014 - May 5 2015. At the time, I had no idea my experiences would be used to understand how universities can better assist homeless students on their campuses. This experience gave me a tremendous insight into the daily struggles faced by homeless students, while simultaneously discovering a great deal about myself in the process.

Why I was homeless

Prior to arriving on campus, I lived and worked in the Midwest as a designer. I was wrought with a constant yearning to take a step in my career without knowing exactly what that step would be. In mid-September, I set my mind on earning a Masters of Fine Art (the terminal degree) in Design . I made the decision even though my friends told me it was crazy; many tried their best to convince me the degree would never be worth it. I made the statement, “I cannot control what the universe put in my path. What can go wrong?”

I was accepted into my dream graduate program at my alma mater in a typical university town. As the largest employer in the region, the university remains the central economic component of the area. It shapes the environment in every way by creating a variety of employment and business opportunities, influencing the housing market (specifically the cost of rental properties geared towards transient students and faculty), and contributing to the culture and identity of the people who live in town (and so much more!). University towns are unique places with their own individual energy, attributes, and problems.

Like every other student, I frantically searched for housing of any kind. University, local, anything. Looking for a home is a stressful experience, potentially one of the most stressful. It’s more than finding four walls and a roof for shelter. Finances, roommates, location, transportation, commute, and more go into the process of finding a home. For me, I knew I wanted to be in town; I loved living in a university town with the atmosphere and people. Living outside of town wasn’t possible for me. The surrounding towns were small, barren, with little-to-no character. I also depended on public transportation because my vehicle was barely getting by, and the surrounding areas lacked public transit to the university, if they had it at all.

Finding off-campus housing is always a hassle. A long dance consisted of searching for the right place and convincing the landlord you’re a trustworthy person to rent to. I had no luck in even engaging in the long renting dance because all off-campus apartments were already rented for the year. Friends helped me search in every conceivable location: Craigslist, Facebook, message boards, newspapers, friends-of-friends. Even the cockroach infested hole-in-the-walls had tennants. A notice was up: “The city recognizes that, currently, there is a shortage in the availability of rental housing for students, so additional rental housing is needed." Nothing. I was in a state of shock. I considered renting a room at a downtown hotel offering “reasonable” extended stay rates. “Reasonable” was a clever word choice in an attempt to target the desperate students in need of shelter. A friend talked me out of that option, offering up his couch with the phrase “My roommates won’t mind.” I minded, though, and politely declined.

The university had a typical campus for a rural area. Since I had last attended, the university had built a great many fancy residence halls, so I didn’t think it would be much of an issue finding a spot in the dorms. Living on campus was not my first choice, but I didn’t really have much of a choice at that point in time. I saw the upside in it; I would be able to reintegrate myself into campus life, and it was very convenient for class. I looked up the university dorm catalogue and went straight for the graduate living options, ignoring the high-end ones. After going through the long and fairly intensive process to sign up for student housing, I received an email stating my application had been accepted, but I was on the waitlist. It was early August, I was more than a little distressed by the news. The semester would be starting soon, but I assumed I had enough time and a placement would come through.

Weeks passed. I began preparing for my move and classes. I packed my belongings. I reached out to local friends to establish a circle of people I could belong to. And I checked my email daily, waiting to see where I would live in student housing. 9

Every day, there would be nothing, and I would reread the waitlist email. With every read, I was hoping I had missed the sentence informing me as to when they would contact me. With every read, I found no such information.

In mid-August, my anxiety reached a new high. I researched, checked Facebook groups, and looked on the university’s web page. I finally had an answer. There was no email with moving information because the university was experiencing a student housing shortage. There were more students than housing for the university and the town. I was unable to understand why they would do this. How were the students able to be students if they had no place to live? This was our lives. This was my life. I was furious. That semester, the university would “fix” the problem by converting two bedroom dorms into four bedroom dorms and converting public lounges and studios into rooms for up to five students. The local paper described the events as “students are jockeying for space both on and off-campus as occupancy rates hover at 100 percent in dorms, apartments, and rental homes, according to city, university, and real estate officials." I recall a little of this happening during my undergraduate years but nothing to this scale. The housing crisis lasted the entire semester.

I lived pretty light. All my belongings fit in my car, which made it easier to bounce from one friend’s couch to another’s during the first two weeks of class. I felt like an aimless tumbleweed. I remember telling my friends, “Oh, yeah, still looking. I’ll find a place soon, though.” To anyone and everyone I mentioned, “If you need another roommate to reduce rent, I’ll sleep on the couch. Just let me know.” I had given up on the idea of living on campus. The university’s housing department still hadn’t found anything for me.

After the second week of classes, I found out the graduate studio was open 24 hours a day. The studio was homey with a used and lived-in vibe. There was a kitchen 10 area, desks for each student, and a beautiful and comfy couch. I couldn’t believe this area was open and usable.

August 30, 2015. I accepted I would live on a university campus. Not in campus housing but in a public area. It was not a decision I made. It was a decision forced upon me by circumstance and a desire to earn an education to better my future.

Duration of my homelessness

Two semesters: 240 days, 5760 hours. Imagine not having a home for that long. Imagine living on campus for that long. Imagine not knowing, for that long, where you are going to sleep when night comes. However, when I look back, the timespan doesn’t feel that extensive to me anymore. It was quite an experience actually. The campus was well-designed, although not suited for the homeless. Obviously, there was no designated place for me to sleep so I had to be cautious as I didn’t want anyone to discover that I was spending nights on campus. It was quite difficult to find a place to sleep during the week.

Some days were good, some were bad. My emotions varied from day to day. It was not easy living on campus; there was a distinct lack of all the comforts that one has at home. Life is unpredictable anyway; and the life of a homeless person is even more so. Initially, when I was new to this kind of lifestyle, the days passed slowly and I was very anxious as I did not know what to expect, or how to pass the time. As time wore on, however, the days moved faster because I had a schedule and knew where to go and how to get things done. Weekdays were still easy on me; I felt in control, I felt I knew what I was doing. Weekends, on the other hand, were nothing but a trial. On 11 weekends, I would spend time ambling around the campus, with nothing but my own thoughts for comfort and solace.

I had to spend most holidays on campus, which was even more difficult because most people I knew would go back to their families leaving the campus nearly empty. I would feel lonely and isolated. On Christmas, however, I was lucky enough to catch a ride with a cousin who was driving through. If it weren’t for times like Christmas, I may well have lost my sanity; life on campus as a homeless person was no piece of cake. I would end up at either of the following nine locations: The Art building, the Campus Library, the Student Center, the Design studio, TacoBell, friends’ couches, a park bench, the Laundromat, or my own car.

Art Building Grad studio/ Second floor Art history grad studio

Being homeless was quite an experience for me; not only did it teach me the value of a comfortable life but it also taught me never to take anything for granted. It was a time of great adversity for me as, despite being homeless and uncomfortable, I had to perform at par as a student as well as a university employee. The most difficult part of being homeless was finding a place to sleep. Thankfully, the Art Building was my sanctuary, it gave me refuge during the times that I needed it the most.

Figure 1. Name

The Art Building had quirky architecture, featuring rustic yellow paneling. There was a white-washed roof. There were stairs on the outside that led to the building. The Art Building also had many hiding spots or small nook areas. The building was like a warehouse. The top floor had many studio spaces for the fine art students who majored in painting. This space was a large room with large wooden dividers giving each student a semi-private area to customize. Some students had couches along with their art supplies, others built tents in their space. It felt like a space that was free for all. Most of those areas were empty after 1am. So, I would sometimes go up there to sleep. The top floor also housed the fine art and art history graduate spaces, I frequented those spaces if I needed to "switch things up." The second-floor had many gallery spaces, teaching areas, and administration offices. I avoided these areas because they had high traffic. The VCD grad studio was on the first floor. This floor had some teaching areas and a bull pit. 13

Figure 1. Name

While the building was open 24 hours (sort of), security locked the doors around 9pm. However, the art and design students typically propped the doors open by using artist tape to cover the doors lock mechanism. Some students would crank open the door by force which would produce a loud clanking sound. Finally, the door would be unlatched. The building officials and administration never asked students to leave after 9pm, so if you were in the building you could stay, letting your friends in. I soon learned that the door nearest to the VCD grad was always open because students and janitors used this space to smoke cigarettes.

During the semesters that I was homeless, I spent most of my time at the vcd grad studio in the art building. The majority of my homeless nights were expended spread out on a grey couch over there. This two-seater couch had seen some years housing chipmunks and other critters. I had conveniently hidden my belongings throughout the space and made it my home base.

The graduate studio featured really nice grey lockers; one for each student. We were also given a giant, yellow, metal desk that had plenty of drawers. I kept my underwear and socks at my desk, knowing no one would snoop around there. My university books and personal computer sat on top. My locker held two pairs of jeans and a couple of shirts, hidden behind stacks of papers and boxes. I would typically wear the same clothes for 2 days in a row; tossing my dirty clothes in a trash bag hidden in a desk drawer. I often looked dishevelled as I really didn’t have any personal space in which to get ready and make sure that I looked presentable. I kept most of the essential hygienic products at my desk. Wash cloth, toothbrush and paste were hidden in a grey zip bag. There were lots of coat racks in the studio, so I hung two of my coats on them. The studio featured a kitchen, so I brought most of my dishes, coffee maker, and other cooking items. No one noticed, everyone thought someone had gifted them to the studio. In effect, my belongings were split between the graduate studio and my car. My car held the bulk of my belongings (clothes, art supplies, blow-up mattress, hygienic products, my prized poster collection).

I would decide whether or not to sleep in the studio on a day to day basis, because there were days when I couldn’t stay there, as certain activities were taking place making it necessary that I move to alternative locations on campus that were safe. The space was open 24 hours, so anything and everything could happen. If one of my colleagues worked late, I had to pretend I was also “working late” and need to “take a nap” on the coach. There was one instance where a fellow grad student sat on the couch all night, working on a paper. I recall being so frustrated by this because I just wanted to sleep and had nowhere else to go. I was not friends with most of the other graduate students. Ninety-percent of them did not know I was homeless, so I always had my guard up, avoiding interaction with most of them. I was okay with that. I could tell some of them took this as me having a distaste for them.

I had a rule about being found sleeping. If I was found by a faculty member or another graduate student, I made sure to make a note of the time so as to avoid such an incident. Whenever a faculty member found me sleeping, I would pretend I had been working really late on a project, strategically leaving projects or my homework on my desk as a prop for such an eventuality. I used to set alarms to wake me before the first morning class; being found sleeping by a faculty member that early in the morning would definitely raise questions. This did happen during the first month. I was found asleep a few times by one faculty member. I also recall waking up to someone loading a projector cart. I had covered myself with a blanket (I was asleep on the couch) and had hoped against hope that the person wouldn’t walk over to where I was. I began to think of excuses I could use. Thankfully that person never noticed me. I was so scared at that moment. I thought I had been caught. One morning, when I was asleep on the couch I recall hearing someone in the room.

At first I couldn't tell their position in the room. I slept with the covers over my face and didn't want to pull them off lest I reveal myself. After a few minutes I realized this person was at the front of the studio. Curious as to who it was, I peeked up from the couch very slowly, to my surprise it was a faculty member preparing a projector cart for their class. I remember saying to myself "crap, I forgot to get up". I then slowly rolled back onto the couch, covering myself with my blanket and hoping that they wouldn't walk over to where I was. The faculty member thankfully never walked over. Unfortunately, this wasn't the last time I missed my alarm and had to hide as the same person went about preparing for their class.

Once I woke up to two security guards staring at me. I remember that night very vividly. I was asleep on the couch and I heard the door open. I thought it was the janitor because he came in and cleaned around that time, but it wasn't. Two campus police officers walked into the room. I immediately jumped up, but froze in place. They walked over to me and eyed me curiously, “You are here every night,” one of them 16 said. I remember they asked me if I had permission to be in the space. I replied, "Yes, I'm a graduate student and I have 24-hour access to the space." I showed them my key card. The officers took the card and asked for my ID. They called someone (perhaps a dispatcher at the Campus Police Department) and ran my name. One of the officers said, "Looks like you're allowed to be in the space. You shouldn't work so hard," and they both walked out.

The next day I was approached by the then Interim Director of the School, Jaime. "Hey, I heard you had a run-in with campus police," they said, jokingly. "Why were you here so late?" I told him I was working on a project. They said, "Okay, don’t work so late." After that day I was so scared that the campus police would catch me again; I tried to sleep in my car more often.

On one occasion, the janitor (who knew I was homeless and living in the art building) mentioned that I wasn't the only one. I asked him what he meant by that and he said, "Yeah, I think there are other students living in the building." After he mentioned this I started to pay a little bit more attention to other students. I remember walking into the art building at 1:30 a.m. and there were three students relaxing, just sitting and enjoying the fresh air in front of the art building office. To me, they seemed like normal fine art students. They looked tired and disheveled. I locked eyes with one of them, waved and said, “Hi.” This repeated a few more times. I ran into one of them in the bathroom at 4:30 a.m. once. That moment was very awkward because he was clearly cleaning himself, he had a rag and soap. I remember thinking, "Should I say something or just pretend like I didn't see anything?" I proceeded to the bathroom stall and he quickly packed his belongings and walked out the bathroom. It was a super surreal and weird moment. I never worked up the courage to ask them if they were homeless. I didn't want to spook them.

Sleeping in the studio during the winter months was tough due to the non-existent insulation. The cold winter air would occasionally cut through the studio. I 17 often contemplated purchasing a winter blanket but I felt it might draw too much attention. I eventually purchased a space-heater.

Later in the semester I discovered the art history lounge on the second floor of the building. The space featured two very uncomfortable chairs and a small couch. The couch was horrible to sleep on, the cushions were incredibly thin, the middle beam pressed against my spine. I recall needing to sleep in the fetal position. Furthermore, the chairs had wooden arms that prevented me from stretching out fully.

The transient and temporary nature of everything in my life during the year I was homeless taught me how little we actually need to survive. Otherwise in our lives, we tend to overdo things and seek more than just the basics.

Campus Library

The first night that I slept in the campus library was a really strange experience for me. It was bizarre. It was the first time I had slept in a truly public space. It was a mentally harrowing experience at times. On a few occasions, I was sleeping in what I had thought would remain a quiet room but, out of nowhere, students emerged, resulting in me being a focal point of attention in the room. This happened a number of times and overtime I accepted that other students might see or hear me sleeping. I had a heavy snore.

I felt particularly out of place in the library because this was a space that I could not fully control or predict. It was quite terrifying. I had a constant feeling that I was being watched by the campus police; that they were watching me through security cameras and waiting until I fell asleep to drag me out of the building. That never 18 actually happened but the feeling that I was being watched would never leave me every time I would spend the night in the library.

The library was the tallest building on campus,located in the center of the campus. It featured 12 floors, each with their own unique layout and design. The building was open 24 hours and required a student I.D. to enter after 9 p.m. The level of activity in the building generally varied; some nights the building was packed to the brim with students, other nights the population was scarce. The library was a great place, one of my favorite spaces; I could always find a nook or meeting room to sleep in. I always felt reassured that I had a place to hide.

For the first few weeks, I found sleeping in public spaces very difficult because it was so unpredictable. The space was very organic, one day there could be no one in the space, the next day it could be full of undergraduate students taking a test. I wouldn’t be able to sleep properly as I felt that someone could be watching me without me even knowing it. I felt as though I was out in the open without anything to protect me. I recall one instance where I found the perfect floor with no students present at that time. There were multiple beanbags, interesting circular couches, and ugly boxlike tables that had wooden backing. Seeing that the floor was empty, I hopped on one of the nooks, made a bed for myself and conveniently fell asleep. About 30 minutes later I awoke to a room full of students. I felt extremely out of place and incredibly awkward. I most definitely had been snoring. I hurriedly grabbed my belongings and proceeded to exit the location. Many of the students were staring at me.

The library was nice; if one floor was crowded, I would just proceed to try my luck on the next floor. The 10th floor was by far the best, there were small conference rooms that one could rent. These conference rooms had two chairs and a concrete table within them. The doors had a small rectangular window through which students 19 could peek in to check if the room was free. That would rarely happen at night; thus, it was the perfect place to be. I would push the two chairs together and lay across them, balancing myself so I wouldn’t fall off. It was rather uncomfortable, but it looked natural, like a normal student taking a nap. I would lay there, leaving my laptop open on the desk but only after turning the screensaver off so it looked like I was working. The fluorescent light would beam into my retinas all night, leaving me feeling unrested the next day. I am quite sure my friends and other students would notice how under-slept my eyes looked.

The building’s security was always a little too curious. They had their routes, walking around the floors. I knew they could evict me from the space and that kept me feeling tense whenever they were around. I knew there were cameras in the building too, so I assumed someone (most likely the building security) knew I was there way too often. They were watching me.

It was a common occurrence to find students sleeping in the library, but running into the same students on the same floor every day did make one curious. I had already realized from my experiences at the grad studio that there were other homeless students on campus. This small group of students slept in the same spot, they looked disheveled and worn in the face. At least two of them held oversized backpacks. All signs pointed to these individuals being homeless students. Regrettably, I never approached them. I believe the university officials knew about us homeless students but refused to publicly acknowledge the issue as it would create a PR nightmare.

I know this because I spoke with a university official a year later and she said, "Yes, of course we know there are some homeless students on campus; we help them during the winter months, giving them shelter but that is all we can really do. There’s 20 not much money circulating around campus, so there’s definitely not funds to help that population of students."

At night the library building was relatively calm. In the morning it was full of life, students hustling around. I often wished I didn’t have to sleep in public places like this and longed for a home. I wouldn’t wish homelessness upon even the worst of my enemies. It makes one feel exposed to the realities of life and leaves one feeling tired and restless all the time. There is no security and I often felt the lack of an anchor or a place where I could go to truly unwind. For now, I had to make the most of what I had.

Tacobell

During my year as a homeless student, living on campus, I ended up sleeping at many unusual locations. The idea was to find a place where I could snooze for a while, that too, without being noticed by the authorities or being recognized by someone who knew me. I would always be careful not to attract any attention. I would try to make it seem as though I was there to work and fell asleep unknowingly.

The local Taco Bell was one of the unusual locations that I opted to sleep in, occasionally. I do not recall the first night I slept there nor do I remember how it came about that I chose such a location. However, I frequented the place on many nights when I needed to “switch things up” to avoid suspicion. The restaurant was open till 2am and was normally pretty busy with drunken students hobbling in and out. My routine was simple. I would walk up to the cash register and would turn the charm on, being overly nice to the cashier. I would mention that “I had a paper to work-on and liked working here”. It was a simple but believable statement. It worked. I normally would purchase two bean burritos, it was the cheapest item on the menu, and sit in the back of the restaurant at a corner table. As I waited, I would set the scene, laying burrito condiments and napkins in one area. My laptop was placed in front of me to 21 reinforce the “I’m studying” look. (I think my laptop had a very important role to play during my homeless years. It always presented the perfect cover). The remaining areas were filled in with random pieces of paper found in my backpack. When my number was called I would pick-up my burritos, cover them with the “fire” sauce, take a few small bites and then browse my laptop. The Wi-Fi was horrible, so I couldn’t really surf the net. After about five minutes, I would close my eyes, and sleep for a bit, drowning out the sound. After about ten minutes I would open my eyes and then repeat the sequence. I made sure to have my back facing the cash register, to avoid stares.

Figure 1. Name

I always feared someone I knew would recognize me. The local police officers sat in a corner. The police and Taco Bell had a symbiotic relationship. They occasionally escorted rowdy students out of the building and in turn received free food from Taco Bell. I had one incident with one of the officers; I broke my routine, walking into the restaurant and sat down, without purchasing an item or taking out my computer. I went to my normal location and fell asleep. About ten minutes later an officer walked over and tapped on my shoulder. He said “Hey, I think it's time you head 22 home”. Startled, I said “Oh, yeah, sorry about that”. I got up and left the building. I never went back thinking my cover was blown.

Design Studio

Not only was I homeless and a graduate student I was also an employee at a student-run design studio located in the student center on campus. The studio was situated on the second floor of the Student Center in a very small room surrounded by university offices. The Design Studio worked with university clients, creating print materials for various campus events and activities. I loved my job. It was well-paying and I got the opportunity to work with and mentor undergraduate students. Because I was a graduate student, I was given 12-hour access to the space. The design studio was broken up into two areas, the bull-pit and the photo studio. The bull-pit was your typical design workspace, it housed fancy computers, high-end tables, and two large windows that created a fishbowl effect. Anyone walking by could see you and you could see them, too. There was no hiding unless you were in the photo studio, which was a room in itself. All of the undergrad students that I worked with knew I was living in the art building and I had made them all swear to secrecy. In retrospect, I think that a lot of them were a bit psyched out by it; initially most of them offered to let me stay at their place as if I needed to. On occasion, I would sleep on the floor underneath one of our fancy tables. Every now and then one of the students would make a joke about me sleeping on the floor, calling me the table monster or the creature that sleeps below.

Figure 1. Name

The studio floors were hard on my back and hips. I eventually purchased a few blankets using them to blunt the impact of the floor. Sleeping during the workday was never an option because the studio was so busy with clients coming in and going out, so I would only go to sleep when the studio was closed.

The photo studio was located in the back; it was a very small room that had two tables and a wall full of photography equipment. Sleeping in the photo studio was great. I could lock the door, relieving the stress of someone watching me. In between classes during the week, I would sometimes go over to the studio to catch up on my sleep. One of the drawbacks of this space was the air conditioning unit, it reduced the floor temperature to freezing levels.

Figure 1. Name

Occasionally, after hours, while I was sleeping, other designers would pop into the studio. I normally would get up, as I didn't want to make any of them uncomfortable or feel they couldn't use the space. I felt out of place knowing that they all knew I was homeless. I trusted them but I also knew that one of them might let it slip somehow. It happened. One designer accidentally told our manager. I recall being in the studio space, working on a project when my manager walked in and asked if I could come to her office. I could tell she was pretty upset about something. Normally, if she invited me to her office we would just talk Once I entered her office, she sat down at her desk and told me to close her door. “Uh oh”, I thought to myself, “what did I do?” She calmly said, “Terran, someone just told me you are living in our building. Is that true?” I said, “Yeah, it is true. I am living in the Art Building. I'm not crazy. Also, please don't tell anyone.” I shared everything with her and must have spoken for about 15 minutes before she followed up by saying, “Terran, you should have said something, I have a spare bedroom” I responded in kind and said, “Thank you for offering but I don't want to inconvenience you and I don't have a reliable car.” She lived in a town about a 30-minute drive away but I couldn't risk driving my vehicle back and forth every day, as it could break down at any moment. She asked me what my plan was, and I told her that I didn't know. She gave me her number and told me to call her if I was ever in a tough spot, she would drive over and pick me up. She also 25 said that she didn't have a problem with me sleeping in the back room, but if anyone asked, she will pretend she didn't know.

While I appreciated the gestures and the kindness that people would extend towards me when they came to know I was homeless, I never really liked the pity and the sympathy. I was capable and self-sufficient; I would take the occasional favor, but for the most part I would like to manage things on my own.

The janitors cleaned the studio at 10 p.m. They would come in, sweep the floors, wipe the tables down, and clean the windows. I liked the student center janitors because they never asked questions or asked why I was sleeping underneath the tables. They would come in and do their job and wouldn't bother me while I was sleeping. I always wondered if the janitors on campus talked or shared stories about their encounters with students. I liked to believe that the art building janitor told them not to ask me any questions.

The Student Center closed at midnight preventing me from staying a full night in the studio. Security walked through all offices, so there was no way of hiding.

Mercury Grand Marquis: My mobile home

There are many city ordinances designed to prevent individuals from living out of their vehicles, thankfully the university city did not have one, so I was able to sleep in my car without much of a heavy conscience. I never intended to break any laws, and always tried to work my way around them or find loopholes that would allow me to live a homeless life without raising any eyebrows. 26

Figure 1. Name

Sleeping out of a vehicle is an art form. You have to carefully and strategically plan where to park. It took me a while to adjust to the small and cramped quarters. There was a lot of paranoia, risk, and luck involved. I felt that the barrier between me and the world was thin. All it could take is for some aggressor to open my car door, and viola, I’m robbed or worse, murdered. This thought ran across my mind almost every night. Overcoming those fears took a while. I developed a ritual to manage those concerns. Every night, before sleeping, I would sit in the driver's seat and survey the area, taking note of every detail. I would sit there for at least fifteen minutes before climbing into the backseat. Laying there, I would conceal myself in sheets and other objects. I don't think I ever got a full night’s rest. When I’d be lying there on my back, my senses were amplified. The smallest sounds were amplified. My brain would turn ordinary sounds, like cricket chirps, into murderous footsteps. Street lights were always tricky. Being parked in a well-lit area made it easy to spot dangers. Unfortunately, even the smallest spec of light on my face prevented me from sleeping. I was a light sleeper. I tried sleeping pills, and they worked for awhile. Eventually, my body got used to them, and they lost their effect. Most nights, I stared at my car 27 ceiling, occasionally peering out my window if I heard a sound. I wouldn't call what I was doing in my car sleeping; it was more like power-napping. I slept in 2 to 3-hour increments.

I had to learn how to effectively manage a small amount of space. Sleeping in my car was very tricky. I divided my vehicle into sections. The front portion of the car was used for studying, meditating, and people watching. The backseat was used to store the items that were a part of my daily routine; bookbag, coats, some clothes, sheets for sleeping, and random hygienic products. The trunk was full of clothes and other random items.

I used to make space for myself in the backseat and lay there with sheets pulled over me. I would try to sleep despite the blaring street lights. These nights were difficult, not only would I feel the pinch of homelessness even more, I would also be struck by the realization that I was on my own. If something were to happen to me, for example if I were to be robbed or if the police were to arrest me, the situation will have to be managed entirely by me.

The summer time heat played a huge factor in when I slept. Sleeping in a 90-degree car was impossible. Vehicle ventilation was very important. Sleeping in a humid car is difficult, nearly impossible. I purchased three fans to keep me cool. I placed them strategically around my car to create air circulations. I am glad that I was able to employ those fans to maintain a reasonable temperature within the car, that allowed me to get some rest.

My vehicle faced many complications, making it difficult to move and live out of it. Losing the ability to roll the car windows up and down was the worst. The left car window was stuck at the midway point for many weeks. Rainy nights were spent fixing 28 plastic to the window, trying to prevent the rain from ruining the backseat, where I slept.

It was essential that I avoid rousing the suspicion of campus security. The campus security regularly patrolled the campus parking lot and it was hard to predict the pattern of the security patrol.

I had quite a few close encounters; the first occurred in the third week that I was homeless. The weather was still warm and I was laying in the car. I could hear footsteps coming from somewhere. Since I was laying down in the backseat, I couldn't tell which direction the footsteps were coming from. I was covered with blankets. The temperature in the car was a little warm but I was glad I wasn't freezing. There is always something to be thankful for; one should always look for the silver lining.

Other than being grateful for what I had, one thing that was always on my mind was that I needed to make sure that I didn't go to jail for sleeping in my car.

While I avoided many encounters with the law enforcement, there were instances where suspicion arose, resulting in total freak outs. Once, while I was sleeping underneath a bridge, a police vehicle rolled up. An officer got out of his vehicle, running his flashlight across my vehicle, searching for something or someone. Luckily, when sleeping in the backseat, I cover myself in sheets and random objects, concealing my silhouettes and other indicators of my presence. The officer wrote a ticket, left it under the windshield wiper, and drove away empty handed.

I had missed the parking pass deadline; I could not park on campus without a pass. There were two locations allotted to students without a parking pass. The first location was located near the university tennis courts. This location was always full and 29 students had the option of parking there twenty-four hours without the fear of having their car towed. The second location, The Lot, was a parking lot located in-front of the student center. This location had limited parking spots. The Lot used a ticket system, requiring visitors to take a ticket. This ticket tracked the amount of time you spent in the parking lot. I recall that the parking fee was 1 dollar an hour. If you parked past midnight, the gate would be open allowing free passage without paying. I frequently exploited this loophole and left my car in The Lot till the morning. I would leave there before security gave parking violations- this happened around 7:00am. The parking violation was 20 dollars. Unfortunately, I failed to remove my car a few times. To avoid prying eyes I would typically park as far as I could from the ticketing station.

Due to sleeping in my car; or rather taking only power naps, I was always left wanting for more sleep. I would roam around the campus, feeling sleep-deprived and looking haggard and under-slept. My friends would often comment on this, and I would respond, making it seem as though I had been awake studying or working on a paper.

Laundromat

When one is homeless, they have got to become creative when looking for a place to sleep. A place to sleep will not be right before your eyes. Sometimes, you have to think out of the box and explore various locations. I learned that it was next to impossible to find an ideal place to sleep. I had to keep shifting from one place to another so as to avoid being caught and also because sometimes the situation necessitated it.

For example, on the rare occasion when the graduate studio was active with other graduate students and the library was closed, my only viable option was the local laundromat. The city housed two Laundromats. One of them featured: a bar, lightning 30 fast Wi-Fi, nice decor and reliable washing equipment. The other featured: no Wi-Fi, broken, out-of-date machines, and white walls that looked like they hadn’t been cleaned in years. The former was five miles from campus, and closed at 11pm. The latter was a ten-minute walk and open twenty-four hours. I absolutely dreaded going there, because of its location. The laundromat was located in the corner of a plaza. To the right of the space there was an art store that sold all kinds of art supplies. To the left was a German bakery that was never open.

Figure 1. Name

The space in the laundromat was small. The front of the location has large windows allowing patrons to view the parking lot. There was a small seating area at the entrance, I normally claimed this area from myself. The laundromat hosted parents trying to teach their tweens about responsibility and the correct detergent-to-water ratio. Couples could be seen kissing and joking as they moved armfuls of damp clothes into heavy-duty dryers. Twenty-somethings working on screenplays while they waited for their machines to signal the end of the wash cycle.

I distinctly remember that the space smelled of mold. It was a dank and dingy place, that was wanting in terms of renovation.

On occasion, I would be sleeping and someone would walk-in. I would then get up and place a few coins in one of the washers. Spending $3.00 was well worth it.

The space didn't have any security cameras, so I felt safe sleeping there.

There was a bar across the street where many graduate students, co-workers, and friends patroned. That did cause a certain level of stress, but I risked being seen anyway.

I figured that in order to maintain cover of my homelessness, I had to do a lot of acting. For example, acting as though I was studying or working on a paper, or else acting as though I was washing my clothes. But I guess it was all worth it, for as long as I didn’t get caught. I sometimes marvel at the fact that I was able to spend two whole semesters as a homeless student, living on campus. It amazes me that nobody reported me to the authorities and I didn’t get caught. I wonder what would have happened had I been discovered.

Park Bench

Who said being homeless was easy? Living on campus, I experienced a lot of uncanny things. When a person is homeless, they don’t have all the creature comforts that others take for granted all the time. Not having a home, one sometimes ends up at the most uncomfortable of places and for me the most unpleasant incident was when I had to sleep on a park bench. Imagine; sleeping on a park bench! Under the open sky with no roof over my head, weathering the chilly winds. Not only was it uncomfortable 32 and cold, it was also unnerving and frightening. Once again, I was reminded of the fact that I was on my own. I had no one to fend for me and no one to help me out if I were to get into trouble.

Sleeping on a park bench may well have been the lowest moment of my homeless experience. Thankfully, I had to sleep on a park bench just once and that too by accident. Everything is not predictable on campus; sometimes things just don’t work out in your favor. Late one night, I walked back to the art building, looking forward to getting some sleep over there. However, the building doors were unexpectedly locked. I panicked a bit and spent quite some time knocking on all the doors of the building, expecting a student or janitor to let me in. But, all to no avail. No one ever came to open the door for me. Maybe there was no one inside that day. The library was closed that night. Furthermore, I couldn’t sleep in my car because I had recently been caught by someone while sleeping in my car. I didn’t need trouble. So, I walked to the twenty-four-hour laundromat, one of my backup locations, and it was full of students washing their clothes. I couldn’t sleep there. I was beginning to grow desperate to find some place to sleep. I walked back to the art building and tried the doors once more, but it was still locked.

Figure 1. Name

I remembered that there was a park bench next to a basketball court. Frustrated, I went over to the bench and began to search my contact list for friends whom I could convince to let me stay over. Unfortunately, it was too late and no one answered my calls. Yet another reminder of the fact that I was pretty much on my own out there!

That night was strange; I just laid on the cold steel bench, unable to sleep. It was one of the most horrible experiences of my life. I laid there all night; awake and miserable. I still cannot believe that I actually slept on a park bench. It was so spooky. I felt uneasy all night; as though someone was watching me.

I kept lying there till about 6.30 am; when the Art Building doors were opened. I had continuously looked around because I didn’t want the campus security to spot me. I really didn’t need trouble.

Sleeping on friends’ couches

Indeed, I am very grateful that I had so many friends who offered me a place to stay during my time when I was homeless on the campus. I would say in total I stayed with about ten friends.

Asking folks if I could stay with them was difficult. I never really wanted to ask for favors and I didn't want to seem needy. So, I only asked if I absolutely needed a place to stay. Eighty percent of the time that I asked for such a favor was during the winter months. It used to get extremely cold and to be able to function I really needed a warm bed.

Driving to Cleveland

Driving to Cleveland to stay with a friend may have been one of the most dangerous things I did while homeless. I remember the graduate Studio was closed because the heat was turned off in the building. That same day the library was also closed. Obviously, needing somewhere to stay, I called up all of my friends. Friend 1 and Friend 2 both agreed to let me stay. The drive up to Cleveland was awful. The roads were covered in snow. My car's power steering had stopped working. I recall sliding out of nowhere, I was going at 20mph, my vehicle was sliding across two lanes. I sat there in shock. The vehicles behind me slowed, their headlights beaming into my retinas. Someone got out of their vehicle and ran over to my window. I rolled down my window, "Are you ok?" he asked. I replied, "I think so," I was still shaking. “You are going a little too fast," I thanked him again. Then I continued driving at 10mph. Halfway there I thought to myself "I can't turn back now". Normally, the drive to Cleveland takes forty-five minutes. This time it took me one and a half hours before I arrived there. Thankfully, the roads were in fairly good shape. Friend 1 and Friend 2 lived on the east side of Cleveland. Their building had five stories.

I stayed on Saturday and Sunday. I slept on their couch, a nice blue mid-century modern couch. I hadn't told them I was living homeless, so they never pushed me to stay.

Driving to Youngstown

My best friend lived in Youngstown, a forty-five-minute drive from campus. I always somehow convinced him to let me stay over for a weekend, once a month.

I always expected to be pulled over on my way to Youngstown. I was always pulled over in Youngstown. My car was full to the brim with my belongings. The officer always took an interest, typically asking if I was "moving" as they snooped around my 35 car, looking in the back and front seats. These exchanges were tense. I’m not good at lying, especially under pressure.

I stayed in his parents’ guest room which at one point was the family game room. Steep stairs leading to small pitch-roofed Attic with cobwebs. There was dust in the air as the light shone through a single window to the outside world. A large white couch from a Manhattan apartment. An assortment — or better piles, of old CDs and 90s VHS Tapes on an old wire shoe rack. The largest Mitsubishi television - also from the 90s, Windows 2000 install disks and other programs that would never run on any computer today in a faded computer desk with an old Compaq inside that didn’t run sitting on top of an industrial office-grade carpet that looked like it had been somewhere else before being installed in the house (true). More cobwebs with spiders. The faint smell of onions and garlic, no doubt from the kitchen below

His mom was the boss of the house so whatever she said had to be followed to the letter. Whenever I left, she would always send me back with snacks and towels.

Graduate student’s house

Quintin was a great friend. I stayed at his place twice during the winter months. The first night I stayed we literally talked till 2am, joking about my bad luck.

He always offered his place if I was in trouble. I took him up on the offer during the winter months. Heat in the graduate studio was not working. The studio was freezing; I’m pretty tough, but I couldn't sleep in a 20-degree room.

Quintin’s apartment was your typical college apartment but clean! He lived in the Lakeview apartments that were located fifteen minutes from campus. He may have had 36 one of the cleanest apartments and the nicest couch. The apartment was located in a very shady area in town. Sitting on the outskirts of the city. Walking to his apartment at night was very scary. The city had low crime but I was willing to risk it for a nice bed or couch. His apartment was small; death metal and comic book character posters could be seen hanging on the walls.

I had known Quintin since undergrad so it was easy opening up to him about my troubles finding an apartment. Quintin knew I was homeless from the beginning.

Co-worker’s House

During the second week of my homelessness, I was fortunate to stay with my co-worker Friend 3 for two days. Few people knew I was homeless then. I was paranoid that Wilson’s roommate, (who I didn’t know), would tell other people about my plight.

I recall Wilson mentioning at work that his roommate was out of town and he was planning a relaxed weekend while he was out. I seized this opportunity to ask if he wanted some company. He said, "uhhh, yeaah, I guess. I'm leaving now, are you ready?" I jumped and said, "Yes, let’s go, homie".

University Professor’s house

Staying with a University Professor from the same College was, in a way, very weird. I was always worried he would tell other professors resulting in everyone checking up on me and wondering how I'm doing. That was something I didn't want so I told him he had to swear to not tell anyone. I believe I stayed at his house once during both semesters. Being stressed out I think I barely spoke to him and his wife the entire time. I slept in their front room on this really fancy couch. 37

Chris was a professor of illustration at the school. He and I taught the same course and I took one of his courses as a graduate student. Over time, during the second semester, he became aware of my homelessness. I'm not sure how he found out but after class one day, he asked me if I wanted to stay at his house. I remember saying, "um, no, I have an apartment". He gave me this weird look and said, "Terran, I know you’re sleeping in the graduate studio". I was caught off guard. After a little back and forth, I eventually agreed to stay at his place, but I made him swear he wouldn’t tell the other professors.

His house was very nice. It was filled with artwork and illustrations that Chris had created. He had moved from New York, so the house had many items that reminded them (Chris and his wife) of the city.

I hung out with the family dog Chester, a black labradoodle, all night on their couch.

Hygiene

Hygiene is so important. It’s one of the first things people notice about a person in every encounter. When you’re homeless, good hygiene is a lot harder to ensure. I knew I had to do everything I could to not appear homeless. If I looked homeless, I would be treated differently. I did my best, but there was only so much that could be done under the circumstances I lived under. I smelled horrible most of the time. Showers were few and far between. There was no place to shower in the graduate area. It was homey, but the university did not anticipate or want students to live there. I made do by using restaurant bathrooms in the area. Taco Bell, Starbucks, Dunkin’ Donuts, and others were all I had to practice the best hygiene I could. Sinks were the closest thing I had to a shower for quite awhile, and I felt like a bird in a bird bath, washing for the whole world to see. I had a pattern: Wake up early, arrive at Dunkin’ Donuts before any other customer, wash in 38 the sink. A safe place to shower was hard to find, but I eventually found the rec center. It was weird as hell to shower there, but it was that or nothing.

Laundry was equally difficult. I wore the same clothes multiple days in a row, which contributed to my less than pleasant smell and overall unkempt appearance. I was able to use the laundromat every other week. I didn’t have much. I had seven of everything. I couldn’t keep more than that because I didn’t have storage. All of my possessions were kept in my vehicle. Dirty clothes were kept in ziplock bags until my next trip to the laundromat to prevent the smell from seeping into my car. I changed in my car sometimes, waiting until 3:00 am when no one was around.

I slept on all kinds of surfaces; none were made for sleeping. The couch in the graduate studio was the best place to sleep, but I couldn’t sleep there every night to avoid suspicion. Sometimes, I slept under tables on the floor. Other times, I slept on chairs or couches in hallways. Every night was somewhere different to avoid seeing the same people. It was hard on my back. I was always achy. I developed back sores. It was unpleasant and painful. Sleep is necessary, but sleeping comfortably and feeling safe were not a part of my life then.

My appearance suffered. I developed severe acne. It stemmed from the stress, lack of sleep, and poor hygiene. I was stuck in the same clothes for days on end. It was painful and embarrassing. Acne is for teenagers not adult graduate students. My hair was always full of dandruff; it speckled my shirts. No matter what I did, it was there. I couldn’t shower it away. It was all a side effect of being homeless.

Having good hygiene was incredibly hard while I was homeless. The normal, little things we do every day in our own homes become mountains to overcome. Showers, laundry, teeth brushing were all choreographed movements to stay clean and go unnoticed in public spaces. There were periods of time when the buildings were 39 always bustling with people, and I wasn’t able to bathe. I smelled, and I was uncomfortable. It caused me huge amounts of stress and affected the way people interacted with me, and how I interacted with them.

Day-to-Day Mental Health

Being homeless affected more than just my hygiene. My mental health and physical health fluctuated week to week and day to day. It took a toll. There was a price to be paid, and I was paying it. At the time, I was not consciously thinking about the effects being homeless had on my psyche because I didn’t have time to think about it. My brain power was being used for academics and for survival. It wasn’t until after being homeless I was able to process all of the emotions I was constantly going through on a daily basis just to get by.

There was always a sense of wonder. Wondering where I was going to sleep that day or if I was going to sleep that day. Wondering if and where I would be able to shower. Wondering if my friends were talking about me behind my back. Wondering if everyone knew I was homeless. Wondering if I would get caught. Wondering if I could keep going. I was always wondering. That wondering took up a huge amount of my time and brain power.

Concealing my homeless status was of the utmost importance to me. It was more important than getting good grades, being a good teacher, eating, sleeping, or showering. I wanted to seem as normal as possible. I wanted to look tired because I had pulled a long night solving the latest design problem, instead of looking tired because I had slept on a couch in a hallway. I was not the average student with the average student’s problems, but I did everything I could to seem like I was. That effort was draining.

During the time I was homeless, I felt like I was always running. There was always someplace I had to be, and there was never enough time to get there. In hindsight, I don’t know if I was so much running to all my obligations as I was running away from the reality of my homelessness. Either way, I was running at full speed around campus from dawn until dawn.

I usually woke up around 6:30 am for a class at 7:45 am in the Annex. Most students would roll out of bed fifteen minutes before class started. Not me. Under normal circumstances, the art building was a short ten minute walk. I had to make several runs before I could take that short trip to class. After waking up and rolling out of whatever was my bed for the night, I had to run to the student center parking lot so I could move my car in order to avoid receiving a parking ticket. If I had the time and energy, I would run to the rec center to take a shower; there were plenty of mornings when I didn’t have any energy to make myself do it. Then, I would run to my class, arriving just in time with five minutes. I used those five minutes to compose myself physically and mentally. I needed to calm down and center my mind in order to be a functional human. The rest of my days were filled with the same problems and successes as any other design graduate student. Not only was I a student, I was a Teaching Assistant. I was focusing on my own studies and being a good teacher. It was a great part of my education, but it took another huge toll. Around 8:00 pm, I would start to wonder where I would be sleeping that night. I was always changing the location so people wouldn’t become suspicious.

Fear would often creep into my emotions. The fear of being safe: Safe to shower; safe to study; safe to sleep. These are all vulnerable moments physically and mentally, and I was doing them all in public spaces. Most people are able to start their day in a physically and mentally safe place, and at the end of the day, they retreat to those same safe places. Being homeless, there was the absence of a safe space to 41 exist, or even a space to exist. I quickly learned how draining it is to always be watching for any possible danger.

I worried so much. There was the worry of what people thought of me as a person, a student, a teacher. I wanted to be respected, but I was always worried my lack of clothes and hygiene meant people thought less of me. I worried it would affect my grades and my future. I was always filled with the worry people just knew I was homeless. Sometimes, I felt like I was a giant ball of worry.

Stress and anxiety were my constant companions. They were as familiar to me as exhaustion. I was always anxious about being found out by my friends, students, peers, and faculty. I did everything in my power to be as outwardly normal and optimistic as possible and never letting on to the turmoil going on inside my own mind. It is incredibly hard to explain the kind of pressure I felt to maintain a façade of normalcy for the world, but also for myself. I put so much pressure on myself to be strong and sane and reliable. If I let that façade slip for a moment, I felt like my whole world would come crashing down.

I was always tired. I was always running. Between the stress of being a graduate student and a teaching assistant, I had a lot on my mind. The fear, worry, stress, and anxiety of being homeless was so much to bear. I was doing it alone because I refused to ask for help. I wanted to be a normal graduate student. I was anything but a normal graduate student. My mental health was being tested, and I don’t know how much more I could’ve taken.

Social life

I wouldn’t call what I had a social life. It didn’t really exist while I was homeless. There was no time to catch movies or go to the bar between school, teaching, and finding a place to sleep. Avoiding people’s suspicion became a full time job. I avoided everyone I could to conceal the truth of being homeless. I felt a mess, and it was hard seeing the judgement, pity, or question in people’s eyes. Many of my friends and peers didn’t say anything, even though I knew they wanted to based on my appearance and the smell I often had from not showering for days.

Being homeless, it was hard to make new friends; I was so guarded. I didn’t want to be judged. Nor was there time to cultivate new relationships either. I was too tired to do much more than the essentials.

The friends I did have, I tended to avoid. Being out of sight meant people wouldn’t see the poor state of my hygiene or the unkemptness of my appearance, which would inevitably lead to questions and lies and guesses at the reality of my living conditions. Very few people knew about my homeless status. I would have preferred no one knew. But people talked, and people guessed. Sometimes on the weekends I would go over to friends’ houses for dinner or a movie night, I would crash on their couch under the guise that it was late. So many friends never realized I was homeless until I told them much later. They never knew how much those nights meant to me or the respite it was from constantly existing in a public space.

When friends saw me they worried and asked questions. I hated lying to them, and the only way to not lie was to avoid them. So my social life dwindled until it didn’t exist at all. Some people had heard I was living in the graduate studio; they thought it was a quirky story or an exaggeration because I was a dedicated student. It wasn’t until much later, they realized the seriousness of the situation. 43

Teaching

During my first semester of graduate school, I was the Teaching Assistant for Doug Goldsmith, the lead illustration professor. It was a big job, and I was very excited. Being a TA added a great amount of responsibilities to the already full workload of being a grad student. I had no idea when I signed on to be Goldsmith’s TA I would also be homeless.

The first several weeks were anxiety inducing. I wanted to be a great TA, giving each student the same amount of individual attention and energy. Teachers can make or break a student’s experience in a department. I wanted to be the reason students found a passion for design, not the reason they found another area of study. I wanted to inspire, and I did the best I could under the circumstances.

I was always a little frazzled. I did my best to arrive early to class but often ran a little behind. I hoped my students wouldn’t notice the fact I was always coming from different directions. Some did. One day, I dropped all the students’ papers. Their grades had been on Post-It Notes, and everything went flying every which way in front of the whole class. I did my best to stick the right Post-It on the right paper, but I don’t think I did. The students were kind enough, no one said anything. It was just one of several seemingly small incidents which added to my stress and feelings of failure.

Pride: Why I didn’t ask for help

After I revealed the fact I’d been homeless, I was often asked, “Why didn’t you ask for help?” Or people would say something along the lines of “If you had told me, I would have helped you.” I always told them, “I knew what I was doing.” I even played it 44 off saying, “Look at me! I’m fine, I didn’t need the help.” Neither of these things are necessarily true, though. I did need the help. I’m fine now, but I wasn’t when I was homeless. The real answer: Pride. I was too proud to ask for help or tell anyone the extent of my troubles.

I refused to admit I was homeless to anyone. When non-close friends asked or even hinted at the possibility, I avoided them. Under no circumstances did I want it being brought up in conversation. When people did ask me point blank, I lied. I said I was fine. Every time I lied, I felt a piece of my soul leaving me. I was withering away. It was so hard to lie to everyone, but I felt it was necessary at the time. It was a part of surviving. I lied a lot.

One night another student decided to offer me a place to stay. I assumed one of my friends had let it slip that I was still searching for an apartment, so I hesitated before saying, “Thank you, but I’ve already found a place.” Another time, a new guy said, “I have a side room you can stay in during the winter if you want.” I did not want faculty members to know about my situation, so I lied, “I have it figured out, but I’ll let you know if I need help. Thanks.” It was not easy, but it felt like the right thing to do.

My family didn’t even know. My pride kept me from telling them. In the back of my mind, I knew I could have taken a leave of absence from the program to go home until my housing situation was resolved. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to be seen as a failure. Being homeless felt like I was failing at something so fundamental. My mom believed I was doing well and thriving. I didn’t want to worry her. Later in the semester, a close friend suggested I ask my parents for help; I said, “Naw. This would freak my folks out. They don’t need to know anything about this.” For me, telling my family wasn’t an option. It never even crossed my mind as a possibility. I felt like if I told them, I would be letting them down. I was the good son who had everything all figured out. In 45 reality, I felt like I had nothing figured out. It would take me a year before I told them I had been homeless.

It sounds silly, but pride kept me from asking for help. Pride kept me from having a roof, a bed, a shower, a sink. But pride is a tricky thing to get over. It was even harder when I already have so little. Pride seemed like the only thing I did have, the only thing holding me all together during that time.

Auto-ethnography: Reflection

I was in a Master of Fine Arts program for design. It’s a field full of creative, quirky people, ranging from put-together to incredibly eccentric. Many people around me chalked up my frazzled appearance and existence to the fact that I was a creative. It wasn’t completely out of the ordinary, but it was out of my ordinary. I did not want to look or smell the way I did, but I didn’t have any other choice. I was living the best I could under the circumstances I was provided.

Looking back, it was not great. It was hard physically, mentally, and academically. I was not living under conditions allowing me to thrive. I was surviving, nothing more.

I did not decide to be homeless. The university made that decision for me. They made the decision when they chose to enroll more students than there were housing options. It is fairly simple math. The number of rooms and beds available between university housing and local rentals should equal or exceed the number of students enrolled. It didn’t. I’m sure I was not the only homeless student at the time. I was nowhere near the only one affected by the university’s housing crisis, but I was affected. My situation could have been worse. I had a vehicle to house my few possessions. The graduate studio was open 24 hours a day, giving me shelter. I was able to shower at the rec center. I survived, but these are not suitable living conditions. I was homeless. I did what I had to do to earn a Master of Fine Arts degree.

Visual reflection:

As a way to reflect on the Autoethnographic research, three illustrated portrait paintings were created. The paintings are visual abstractions of myself and other homeless students observed during the process. The pieces were created using various scavenged materials; paper, cardboard, paint, all found around the university. The intent of the work was to capture the physical and emotional stresses homeless students face daily. Telling their story and mine through symbolism and mark making.

How can universities help

Even though student homelessness is a complicated problem, it can be addressed. Undeniably schools including universities have an indispensable role to play in linking homeless students to the support that will allow them to regain stable housing. The universities can position themselves as the center for quickly pointing out homeless students, and linking them and their families to the agencies and organizations that have the resources and the capacity to offer transportation, housing, emotional, mental health care and at least facilitate students' learning process during the adverse times. There is no denying that students spend a considerable amount of their day in school, and as such, schools can avail these persons a consistent and safe place to not only study but also have access to caring adults who can assist them deal with some of the difficulties they face. In the past, discussions concerning the educational pedagogy and policy for homeless youths accentuated on k-12. This is despite the fact that the recent policy in higher education changes concerning homeless students and college access create new opportunities for the education of homeless students.

Universities have tried to help the homeless students because the services they provide students are to a large extent aimed at maintaining stability in their lives during their state of homelessness. The difference for the university students of today and the past is that there exist some ways and means of identification and provision of support.

It is critical to understand that affordability and access are vital issues for current and potential homeless college students. Comparable to the low-income students, youths who are homeless experience barriers in getting access to and paying for university and college education. In spite of the barriers facing the homeless, federal legislation has been passed to attempt to expedite the process of transition to 50 university from high school. As a matter of fact, the 2005 reauthorization of the Higher Education Act encompasses changes that facilitate access to university education for the homeless youths (Quaye, Harper, & Pendakur, 2019).

Further, The College Cost Reduction and Access Act created an avenue for higher education institutions to identify homeless students by adding questions regarding homelessness to the FAFSA (Quaye, Harper, & Pendakur, 2019). As more students who are homeless are identified, they will be in a better position to take full advantage of the broad range of the supportive individuals and programs within the institutions.

As universities and colleges commit to creating competencies in students, they are the best institutions to assist in promoting resiliency (Ross, Smith, Casey and Slavin, 1995). Universities have been taking part in providing relief from the stressors the homeless may encounter. In terms of resiliency, education settings provide a vast array of opportunities for youth to nurture resiliency (Quaye, Harper, & Pendakur, 2019). Besides, universities avail a number of co curricular activities that go a long way in serving as some type of external support. As the homeless take part in these activities, they create a positive network of external and social support. As already noted earlier, the majority of the unaccompanied homeless students from daunting and challenging family conditions may have primary mental health problems, including not only anxiety and depression. The majority of the institutions of higher learning and universities offer primary health services, such as mental health diagnoses and counselling, to enrolled homeless and unaccompanied students.

In line with the increasing problem, a growing number of universities now offer resources to assist the students who are homeless. For instance, Kennesaw State University’s Campus Awareness Resource and Empowerment Services (CARES) gives temporary housing, year-around housing, a campus pantry stocked with toiletries and food, temporary work assignments, case management assistance and scholarship to 51 assist homeless students who faced homelessness or are at the moment struggling housing problems (Care.kennesaw.edu. 2020).

According to Dunning and McWhirter (2020), in the event where universities do not have all year-round accommodation, there may be off-campus department to offer support and help students find subsidized and affordable option for housing. What’s more, some universities allow housing utilized by sororities and fraternities to stay open to homeless students in the course of the school breaks, and this imply that the homeless students can continue to live within the campus in the entire year.

What it all means:

● 24hr facilities work. They give homeless students a place to stay.

● Supportive programs like food banks are sometimes overlooked.

● Campus security has a higher chance of interacting with homeless students, providing them with informative materials relating to helpful university programs.

● Homeless students go to great lengths to keep their secrets.

● Homeless students are potentially more willing to share their experiences during their first month of homeless.

● University administers are aware of this issue, but lack the financial resources to help.

● Universities should provide safe parking lots where homeless students can sleep in their cars overnight.

Closing Remarks

The first step towards assisting homeless students entails understanding the problems they face. Most of the time, these students are misunderstood, not identified, and receive fewer services than they should. As noted in this paper, student homelessness is not experienced uniformly. In fact, homeless students come from a broad range of living conditions and backgrounds, each of which impairs or impacts the student’s educational opportunities. Students’ homelessness is a social issue that to a large extent will never entirely disappear. However, there are some practical steps that universities can pursue to ensure the school setting is more accommodating and conducive to the special circumstances of the population of homeless students. As pointed out in this paper, for all students who struggle with homelessness, schools can give stability and an environment to deal with and eliminate their risky behaviors.

Preventing student disengagement from school could lead to improved academic results and achievement. Institutions of higher learning provide student services that deal with individual stressors for susceptible students, ramping up their rates of retention and also graduation. Universities and colleges with responsive programming can safeguard students from some of the extreme difficulties that complicate their educational support, and attain resilience to endure to graduation.

Appendices

Quotes from Friends

“I knew Terran was homeless during his time as a graduate student, and I marvelled at how well he was able to still meet his demands as a student, employee, and adjunct instructor.” - Jennifer

“I recall Terran smelling horrible during class, like he hadn't showered in days. I was concerned but didn't want to overstep; I hardly knew him at the time. I wish he had spoken up; I had an extra room in my apartment that he could have stayed in.” - Emily

“Terran was, and is, a super-talented person. However, I was concerned that his often-dishevelled appearance and demeanour would prevent people from seeing that.” - Jennifer

“I remember Terran sleeping on couches around the University. He would carry his iMac in a box everywhere he went. His entire life was in the trunk of his car. We replaced the tire on his car one day and somehow even his car/trunk didn’t have more than he needed. He’s a minimalist physically, but also mentally he focuses on what matters most and doesn’t get caught up in modern distractions.” - Josh G

“Terran and I were both in the Visual Communication Design program at Kent State University. I noticed him sleeping on the couch in the hallways of the art building on campus all the time. It wasn’t until I stayed really late to work on a project and saw him on the couch when I left, then came in early the next morning and saw him still sleeping there that I realized he had been living in the art building.” - Laura G

“I worked with Terran during his period of homelessness so I experienced it firsthand. I know he mainly slept on the couch in the graduate studio, but I would often come into the office and he’d be napping in the dark underneath the table in the back room on the hardwood floor. He even crashed on my couch a couple of times. I don’t think he got one good night’s sleep that entire time. “He would shower at the campus gym when he could, which unfortunately was not as often as we both would’ve liked, as we shared a desk at work.” - Ryan W

“Terran was a role-model and inspiration for us all. He was skilled, knowledgeable, and has a positive, energetic personality that lights up a room. Discovering he was homeless was a shock. Terran taught me that success isn’t about what you have—it’s about what you make for yourself.” - Josh G

“Terran had often appeared disheveled and slightly frantic, which concerned me as a friend. Although this was true, he was an incredible leader, designer, and friend. Terran always showed up to provide meaningful feedback or simply talk, which may have contributed to me assuming everything was okay. I hadn’t realized the gravity of the situation, assuming it was a part of his hustle.” - Patrick H

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