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(a snip from the show we're mounting. please cross something, I think this will run.)
The Tenderloin is in the theater district and has about 50 residence hotels with tiny rooms once used by dock workers in the 30’s.
The Tenderloin has it’s own climate, it’s own weather. It’s poverty and hopelessness and despair.
Let’s take a tour of the Tenderloin.
Everybody please stay together.
Here’s Market Street, the financial district. People in sharp clothes on cell phones. You can beg for change for them and sometimes they slow down and say “No”.
Let’s go two blocks North. Here’s St. Anthony’s Dining Room, where you get your free hot lunch after spending a pleasant social hour in line with the other guests. Down the street here is Glide Memorial Church. I think we may be too late to get a good table. What a turnout, huh? They serve donated leftovers from restaurants and bakeries three times a day to a full dining room. Every now and then, they run out of gloves in the kitchen and you get gastrointestinitis. Then, you have to find a toilet that you can sit on for three dayS. If you’re lucky, you get to go to the hospital. Back on Market Street, we come to Carl’s Jr., open 24 hours. You can stay there all night as long as you never go to sleep. See, the security guard is going around and poking the guys that are nodding off. If they fall asleep, he has to kick them out. (Wave goodbye to the guard.)
It’s dark out here now but if you look carefully, you can see here’s a guy passed out on the sidewalk with a needle in his arm. Just step around him, like everybody else. Okay -- here’s the St. Francis Theater that showed two new movies for $3.50 starting at about noon. I saw 100 movies here.
Now, we go about six blocks west on Market to our next stop. It’s early, so the only people out are people going to work. I remember that.
Now we’re here at the famous Pill Corner. You can buy any pill in the world here. People sell their medication here to dealers for a few bucks or sometimes they take merchandise in trade. It’s sort of like an urban flea market only without the hotdog vendors or the carousels. And here’s Sixth Street between Market and Mission, the Walmart of Crack.
That woman – that skinny woman in the middle of all those big scary guys, she has a big plastic bag with 100 rocks of crack cocaine in it. You notice, there’s no policemen? There’s never any police. Those guys all have guns. Let’s keep moving.
Are we all still here? Nobody got robbed? Good. Hope you enjoyed the tour.
It was easy for me to become a crackhead. You don’t snort it, you smoke it, so your brain gets it in seconds. Then I would forget I was in the Tenderloin. I would forget who I was. And who I had been. I wasn’t me, I was just a crackhead.
Here’s how you do crack. You leave your roach infested room and go to Sixth Street. You don’t give that skinny lady all your money until you see the rock. Its yellowish-white, about the size of one dice or that thing you use to chalk your pool cue. It has to have bubble holes in it or it’s not crack. When you see what you think is your money’s worth, you make the exchange. I would usually spend a hundred dollars. That way you get a better deal. If you’re not careful, they’ll sell you a peanut or a piece of drywall. You get ripped off a lot. Then you go to the liquor store a few feet away and buy a glass pipe for two dollars. You know that little flower in glass at the counter you picked up for your girlfriend while you were waiting? That’s a crack pipe. You buy some Chore Boy. It’s like a Brillo Pad but with no soap on it. They have boxes and boxes of it in those stores.
If people bought that stuff to clean with, the Tenderloin would be the cleanest place in California. You buy a lighter. You rush back to your room and lock the door. Your char some of the pad with the lighter to burn the paint off – you don’t want get sick inhaling chemicals, right? -- and put a little wad in one end of the pipe. Then you break off a very small piece with your fingernail, put it on the pad, hold it up, and light it. It melts, and you fill your lungs with smoke.
Bam! You feel like a million bucks. You’re not speedy, you’re not down, you’re not depressed, you’re not in physical or mental pain, you’re perfect. For two minutes. Then you need more. Now. Powder cocaine gets you high for 20 minutes to an hour. With crack you have to keep doing it. Hit it now. You talk with someone if you have somebody there. If you’re alone, you don’t eat, you don’t watch TV, you don’t do anything but smoke. Hit it again.
Crack is the designer drug of poverty.
After a few hits the pipe is caked inside with dried crack. You have to take a wire you buy at one of the many head shops, or take a piece of a TV antenna off of the hotel TV, and you push the Chore Boy all the way through the pipe to the other side. And you have to do it just right, collecting the crack inside as you push. And you push it until the little crack nest is at the other end of the pipe. There are two more hits in that nest and the last thing you want to do is drop them. Be patient now because you will light the side you were puffing on and suck the side you were lighting. You don’t want to burn your lips. You will. Hit it now. You can burn your nose too but you don’t care. Hit it again.
When you run out you will sell your own shoes to get more. The crash is horrendous. Your brain freezes. It says, “Where’s the fucking crack? I need more now!” Some people in the hotels did heroin – the preferred drug of the Tenderloin – to come down. I just suffered and went to sleep. Some people will search the floor of their room for hours to see if they dropped any. I saw people looking on the ground on the street. Nice high, huh?
I thought I had no friends and never called any of my old buddies or told my wife or my mother or anyone what was happening. I was too ashamed.
My one friend, Trent Hayward, who I met in a shelter, always slept under a bush. He was too proud to get a check from the government and never had money so I bought him tobacco. We both smoked Gauloisie rollies, the strongest unfiltered cigarettes in the world. Trent and I spent a lot of time at the library and at cafes talking. He was taking a journalism class and wanted to get hired by the Bay Guardian. He would never sneak into one of my rooms or let me have him as a guest and I can’t blame him. Those rooms were gray prison cells. When you’re homeless and you’ve smoked all your hotel money, you stay in shelters; you have to leave at 5 am and you can’t go back until 6pm. Once, I didn’t go back for my stuff fast enough and they gave it all away.
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