Bringing it home...
San Diego’s streets are full of people one paycheck away from a good home, escaping an abusive relationship or the demons of PTSD. When we take the time to stop and talk with people we learn they are families, brothers, mothers, seniors, veterans, teenagers, sisters, all looking for a home. Some find community and protection among each other, some choose to stay in isolated corners. This site is about our shared humanity; a documentary project in words and visuals by award-winning photojournalist Peggy Peattie, who has been telling the stories of America's homeless for nearly 40 years.
Michael and Macushla walk through San Diego during the day, stopping often to let people pet Macushla - she’s a crowd pleaser. She’s his “darling daughter", a loose translation of the name made famous in the movie Million Dollar Baby. Michael also tries to be a crowd pleaser, never starting arguments, avoiding drugs and alcohol and situations where they dominate the environment. He spent 16 years working at restaurants in Las Vegas before caring for his ailing father, but a couple of personality clashes with his brother and sister landed him on the streets in San Diego. Now he is happy to at least be in a tent at the O Lot, hoping for something more permanent soon.
In a gravely voice, his back to the street, Vernon, 75, related a steady stream of life episodes full of conspiracies, identity theft, property theft, unusual career choices, flirtations with theatrical stardom, and a penchant for both martial arts training and proficiency in Russian ballet. His stylishly all blue outfit and broad toothy grin seemed in contrast to the mountain of belongings on wheels at his side. After 34 years on the streets in San Diego, he has a routine that keeps him fairly safe physically, but doesn’t shield him from theft. The camping bans has brought out some crazy housed people, he said.
Catie Profeta conserves water so she can have clean rinse water when she washes her hair and brushes her teeth. She shares food, money, clothes and other resources with others around her in her Hillcrest neighborhood, mindful to never block the sidewalk. Her degree from Whittier College is in Environmental Science, with a minor in Women’s Studies. When she was working Profeta always ended up the project manager, something she credits to her OCD tendencies. After a work injury left her jobless, then homeless, she is leaning on her analytical brain skills to suss out who to trust and how to be resourceful. She fondly remembers her Women’s Studies classes and professors as some of the most formative influences in her life.
Fawnadina Hunter, 43, leans on her rake after smoothing out the patch of dirt around the large tent she shares with her husband Natalio “Junior” Aviña, 34, and their German Rottweiler, Oso. She sighs as she looks over at to the mound of trash her neighbors had piled up against the cyclone fencing that separates this patch of dirt from the sidewalk. She is also keeping an eye out for Junior. She hasn’t seen him or Oso since early morning. She fears he is with another woman or off smoking meth. She is thinking it may be time to call it quits on their 11-year relationship and return to her home near Porterville on the Tule River Reservation, where a niece is living in her house for now.