Herman Floyd ended up on the streets of Augusta four years ago when his mother died and he was saddled with her unpaid bills.
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By Paul Garber
``They're both the same in one sense: survival,'' he said. ``But in Vietnam, things happened fast. You didn't know when someone was going to get you. Out here, it's slower. You can die a slow death here.''
His skill as a heavy equipment operator landed him jobs in Miami, Cleveland, even Kuwait. But when his mother died four years ago, Mr. Floyd's life began a downward spiral.
Confused and saddled with his mother's unpaid bills, he was unable to make ends meet, was evicted from his house, and ended up in the streets.
``It was real scary,'' he said. ``I didn't know what I was going to do or where I was going to go. You don't know where to go where someone won't bash your head in. And the mosquitoes will eat you up out there.''
His world is now mostly confined to a few blocks between the Butt Memorial Bridge and Eighth Street. But he said he is not bitter about his homelessness.
``I know no one put me out here but myself,'' he said. ``I just want a chance to turn things around.''
Tuesday was a typical day on the streets for the 43-year-old Dublin, Ga., native, a day of standing in lines and hoping for a break.
It began at 5:15 a.m., rising time at the Salvation Army shelter on Greene Street. He showered and took his sheets and dropped them in a laundry bin. The sheets are washed every day to get rid of any fleas, lice or ticks.
After a grits-and-butter breakfast, he was back out on the streets at 6 a.m. when the shelter closed for the day.
In front of the shelter he hoped to ``catch a break'' - or get a job for the day. Every morning, trucks drive by the assembled men looking for unskilled laborers. But most are looking for strong, younger men, and Mr. Floyd is not chosen.
By 10 a.m. he made his way toward the Master's Table soup kitchen on Fenwick Street, where lunch is served at 11 - beans and rice on bread and chocolate milk.
He talked reverently about the homeless people he's seen who were lucky enough to escape the streets. ``Some were able to get good jobs. They work every day. You can see where the good life is at,'' he said.
On his right sat a 16-year-old boy whose mother had been sent to jail, leaving the boy without a family and forcing him to live under the Calhoun Expressway.
``I feel bad for him,'' Mr. Floyd said. ``I try to take him under my wing. Right now, (the boy's future) is really poor. I don't see why people are not looking into it.''
Crossing the train tracks on Ninth Street, he recognized another group of homeless people on their way to get a meal. They smiled and waved as they passed. While some homeless people turn to drugs or alcohol, most of them have learned to cope with the uncertainties, Mr. Floyd said.
``I did drugs for two years,'' he said. ``But I pulled through. I read the Bible and asked God to take all this taste from my mouth. Now I'm straight.''
Others are unable to escape the ravages of substance abuse. Day labor cash easily can turn into liquor, beer or crack, said a homeless man who would only give his name as George.
``The alcohol and drugs help deaden the pain for a while,'' he said. The pain is shame, he said, shame from the way they look, the way they smell, the way they live and eat. That's why he finds it easier to talk about the future, the future where everything is changed.
``Tomorrow's another day,'' he said, smiling.
Mr. Floyd is not naive about survival on the streets. There are parts of Ninth Street and Summer Street where he won't take strangers because the drug dealers are too dangerous there, he said.
And while he'd like to believe that homeless people are just as smart and hard-working as others, he admitted there are many who don't want to work or have let their substance abuse problems get out of hand.
``Some of them are just tired they've been out here so long,'' he said.
Mr. Floyd's next stop is the public library on Greene Street, where he'll look at a newspaper or read a book. It also gives him a chance to escape the heat.
``The drug scene has made everything else so bad that no one wants to trust anyone anymore,'' Mr. Gaines said. ``People can tell you're homeless and when they see you coming they get a fear.''
After the library, Mr. Floyd walked two blocks to the TempWorks temporary agency on Eighth Street, which often hires homeless people for industrial work such as sweeping floors. It is the second time he has been there today. He was also there at 7 a.m.
Like most of his homeless friends, Mr. Floyd said he is just looking for steady work so he can start to turn his life around. But it can be difficult to find work because of the homeless stereotype.
``People think we're always bumming, begging for money,'' he said. ``But it's not like that. A lot of them want to turn their lives around.''
There has also been another problem. To get a job, he needed a photo ID. But to get an ID, he needed a permanent address. With the help of Georgia Legal Services, he was able to get a photo ID last week, which gave him a renewed optimism that his life is beginning to change.
With no other job prospects for the day, he made his way down Augusta's littered back streets to the Salvation Army, where dinner was to be served at 5:30 p.m.
He spent the afternoon in the shade of a tree next to the Salvation Army, talking to other homeless people about job rumors and life at the shelter.
Dinner again was rice and beans - meat is a rarity for the homeless. He put his small bag of belongings in front of the Salvation Army's door so he could be one of the first in line when the doors open at 7:30 p.m.
There is only enough room for 40 men at the shelter, and there are more than that who hope to spend the night.
A few weeks ago Mr. Floyd landed a job for the day, and by the time he got back, the shelter had filled for the evening, forcing him to sleep on mattresses outside beneath a fog of mosquitoes. His first response was to get angry, but he resisted the temptation. ``You don't win when you get like that, so I just try to hold on,'' he said.
Many of the men pass the evening reading or socializing - televisions and radios are not allowed. By 10 p.m., most are asleep.
He spent another night hoping that tomorrow would bring him the job that will turn his life around. He hopes someday to get enough money to move back to Dublin, but for now he'll be satisfied starting at the bottom and working his way back up.
``I get on my knees every night and say my prayers to try to get some work,'' he said. ``And every morning, too.''
Staff Writer
The streets of Augusta look nothing like Vietnam. But Herman Floyd, a former helicopter gunner and now one of Augusta's homeless, can see similarities.
Many of his homeless friends are educated, he said. Many, like him, have some college education. Chris Gaines, who also stays at the Salvation Army, found out about the shelter by looking up local social service agencies on a CD-ROM in the library.
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