Extra! Extra!

The season is on! Yeah, sure, the rain, but we’re talking about the Trail Blazers. They’re chewing up the boards again, giving us all something to cheer about. That other season is here as well, but your vendor will be keeping a Street Roots dry for you with a fresh edition ready for reading on Friday. Here’s a peak:

The education of Marcus Camby: Jules Boykoff interviews Trail Blazers’ Marcus Camby about his mission to help improve children’s lives. Camby talks about his passion for education and the inspirations in his life.

A fitting new beginning: Downtown Chapel’s new pastor, Father Steve Newton, tells of his journey from hitting bottom and coming back again.

Street Blues: Officer Robert Pickett returns to write about a police officers perspective on engaging people on the street.

Street Roots Online Auction catalogue: Four and a half pages packed with the great items on the block for great prices and a great cause! It’s a handy reference for that other season that’s upon us — the holidays!

Plus, commentary by the Mental Health Association of Portland on transgender care, prison life insights from Ruth Kovacs and great poetry from our vendors and community. Don’t wait! Get your copy of Street Roots Friday!

Oregon’s budding future? Q & A w/State Rep. Peter Buckley

By Amanda Waldroupe, Staff Writer

Oregon Rep. Peter Buckley (D-Ashland) wants to make Oregon “black marketless,” help end the War on Drugs, and generate up to $80 million in revenue. And he intends to do it by legalizing marijuana.

Buckley intends to introduce the Oregon Cannabis Revenue Act during the upcoming state Legislative session in January. The law would legalize marijuana in Oregon for people over the age of 21 and allow people to grow their own marijuana. A new office within the Department of Agriculture would provide oversight and regulation, and the state would collect revenue from taxing the drug.

Buckley thinks as much as $80 million could be collected from the taxes. That extra revenue could provide a sorely needed shot in the arm to Oregon’s anemic budget, which is suffering from a projected $3 billion shortfall. “I’m trying desperately to keep programs for Oregonians intact,” says Buckley, who co-chairs the state’s Ways and Means Committee. “The idea that we are spending money (on enforcing marijuana prohibition laws) and ending programs for Oregonians drives me nuts.”

His law closely mirrors legislation supported by activist Melodie Silverwolf and Madeline Martinez, executive director of Oregon NORML, who have sought multiple times to collect enough signatures to put a measure on the ballot legalizing marijuana.

Buckley’s increased motivation to legalize marijuana comes at a time when marijuana is becoming a growing concern in southern Oregon and northern California. In May, the Oregon Business Magazine reported that in southern Oregon, law enforcement considers the growth of marijuana in public lands, and activities and crimes associated with it, at epidemic levels.

And marijuana laws are being considered in both states. On Nov. 2, Oregonians will vote on Measure 74, which would expand regulation of Oregon’s medical marijuana dispensaries (Oregon approved the use of medical marijuana in 1998 and is among only 14 states to have done so). Californians will be voting on Proposition 19, which would legalize marijuana in their state. Earlier this month, California Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger signed into law a bill that reduces the charge for possession of up to an ounce of marijuana from a misdemeanor to a civil infraction.

How California votes on Prop 19 is the biggest deciding factor for Buckley as he considers introducing his legislation. If Californians pass the law, Buckley thinks it will create enough traction for a similar law in Oregon.

To Buckley, deciding whether to legalize marijuana comes down to common sense and having a rational discussion about the continued impact on society of ineffectively illegalizing drugs.

Amanda Waldroupe: Why doesn’t prohibition work?

Peter Buckley: It’s never made sense to me. We’re spending much too much of our resources and energy in trying to stop people from using a substance they want to use and that grows naturally in a garden. You could always make the comparison to alcohol. Prohibition didn’t work, and it caused more harm than good. The war on drugs has, in general, caused more harm than good. If we had legalization and education about what drugs do to people and the consequences of using them, we would be far more effective.

A.W.: I can think of another plant that grows naturally in our gardens — poppies, which make heroin. Are you saying that heroin should be legal, too? There is the old argument that government should legalize all drugs and tax them heavily. In your mind, is this a beginning to doing that?

P.B.: I think that is a more rational approach. But there is a difference between marijuana and heroin. Heroin can kill you. Flat out. It has a track record of ruining lives. Whereas with marijuana, I don’t think you could point to anything close to that impact. It doesn’t make sense for the government to be involved in stopping people from engaging in behavior that does not damage any other person. It is okay for us to regulate that behavior when it does hurt other people. And the black market in illicit drugs hurts other people.

Plugged in with Artist Mentorship Program (AMP)

Youth play in a jam session at the Artist Mentorship Program (AMP). Photo by Ken Hawkins

By Devan Schwartz, Contributing Writer

The electrical buzz of amplifiers predominates in the small studio space. A drummer strikes a three-count and starts laying down a beat. The second drummer hesitates only for a moment and joins him, throwing in a little extra high-hat and the deeper sound of the toms. Before long, rhythm and lead guitars have joined the jam, as has a bassist. The musicians communicate with eye contact or Spartan verbal cues when it’s an agreeable time for someone to solo or shift the tone to better match the group.

These musicians look ready for any of Portland’s music venues. Torn jeans. Tattoos.  Long foppish hair or assymetrical buzzcuts. Painted fingernails. Dangly jewelry. Baggy faux business attire and skate shoes. But they’re not here tonight to cut an album or polish a performance to get a percentage of some club’s cover fees.

Instead, they’re a group of homeless youth. They’re jamming for a couple of hours before Portland’s shelters open up for the evening. It’s just your average night at AMP — the Artist Mentorship Program — if such an average night exists.

Measure 73 is more smoke and mirrors on the fear front

by Erika Spaet, Guest Columnist

Do you consider yourself to be a foolish person? I certainly don’t. But that’s what tough-on-crime forces in this state think we are: dumb. By using scare tactics, inaccurate information and millions of out-of-state dollars, political agenda-setters have put forward — and passed — regressive public safety ballot measures, and now more than ever, we need to be smarter voters.

The most notable public safety ballot measure is Measure 11. As you know, Measure 11 created mandatory-minimum sentences for 21 crimes in Oregon and exponentially increased our prison population and corrections spending. It was crafted by Oregon politician Kevin Mannix and funded by out-of-state donor Loren Parks.

Our daily bread

Customers gather for services at the Clackamas Service Center

Clackamas Service Center struggles to stay open as demand
in the community continues to rise

By Joanne Zuhl
Staff Writer

Drive too fast through the commercial din of Southeast 82nd Avenue, and you will miss the simple sign: Clackamas Service Center, this way. The faded former church building anchors the lot on this dead-end road, where people gather outside, the conversational and solitary, on this Tuesday morning. For many, it is a bittersweet destination.

“It’s not where I saw myself,” says Lisa, who didn’t want her real name used. She sits in the main hall of the center with a numbered tag, waiting for the call that her emergency food box has been assembled in the basement below. “But I’ve got to do what I’ve got to do for my family.”

For nearly four decades, the Clackamas Service Center has done what it had to do as well – for the people in need in its community, and for it to function as a distribution center of donated food, clothing, hot meals, health care and good will. But in its 38th year of operating a multi-purpose service center for the poor and homeless — in a county short on such provisions — the center’s operators are finding the demand now financially overwhelming to the point of closure. In the past three years, the center reported a 60 percent increase in the number of customers coming to its doors for assistance, and a 50 percent increase this year over last. The mobile clinic parked in its lot, provided by Outside In, is booked solid for three clinic sessions every week. Bread shelves are scoured daily by the unemployed, the elderly and the homeless. And the need for emergency food boxes, once a periodic cycle, is now at a sustained level nearly exceeding capacity.

“What really changed is that we used to see a lot of construction workers or seasonal workers who would come in when things were tight and off season,” says Executive Director Andrew Catts, the only full-time employee of the center. “That’s not the way it is anymore. Now we’re hearing, ‘I’ve lost my job. I’ve lost my home. I’m living out of my car. I’ve never done this before. I’ve never been in this situation before. I’ve never had to ask for help before.’”

In the past year, the center went from filling 270 food boxes per month to 350 to 370 per month. In April, it gave out 400 food boxes, the bulk of the contents provided through the Oregon Food Bank. “We’re at service capacity. In the past couple of weeks, more and more, we’re asking, are we going to have enough food to keep doing this?”

The center is seeing more people like Lisa. This was Lisa’s third time at the center, each time to pick up a food box for her family; canned goods, bread, nuts and, on good days, fruit. She’s married with three children, and while her husband works, her job at a day care center has been cut back to only two hours a week. (People who no longer have jobs can’t afford day care, she says.) Combined, she and her husband no longer make enough to cover the bills and feed the family with a mortgage still over their heads. Many of her friends, she says, are in the same situation. They exchange awkward encounters at the various churches and other charities that provide stopgap assistance for struggling families.

“It’s just kind of embarrassing,” Lisa says. “They’re embarrassed. You’re embarrassed. It’s a pride thing.”

But what’s distinctive about the Clackamas Service Center, this reporter having visited many service providers in the Portland area, is the energy of rebound, the message that with this bit of a springboard, however coarse it may be, I will be able to restore my life. The attitude here is that this isn’t an endgame.

“I have a goal,” says Lisa, who wants to go to school to be a dental hygienist. “I’m just hitting a little bit of a bottom right now.”

Introducing Pseudo Pink

About the author: This is a new column presenting the perspectives of a gay man living homeless in Portland. As such, Pseudo Pink remains anonymous for his own protection. He can be reached through the Street Roots editorial office at streetrootsnews@gmail.com

The closet is dark, uncomfortably warm and very confined. It is the only room that I have. This room surrounds me, defines me and travels with me wherever I go; and it is oh so heavy.

The darkness is blinding and the air is stifling but the light from the outside world is painfully bright and I am drawn to it. Pouring into my darkness with a savage and alluring cruelty, the light promises love, companionship and peace and yet I dare not venture into the light for fear of being destroyed like a vampire or turned to stone like an ogre.

Those who would support me and love me and help me to find my way out instead reject me off hand, my pleas falling on deaf ears and faces filled with disdain, being homeless is just not fashionable enough.  Then there are those who, if I did make it out, would destroy me: beat me, rape me, and kill me. Their taunts becoming the lesser of two evils, and sadly less painful than the rejection of my peers.

I am homeless and yet not without a closet. John Lennon and Paul McCartney sang about a nowhere man and more and more I feel like the embodiment of that nowhere man. I sit between worlds and dream of things that are not to be because it seems nobody wants to know a nowhere man. I feel like a double negative in that I have two strikes and no teammates who are willing to back me up: Homeless and gay and very very lonesome. Homeless and gay, a sad and dangerous combination. I read through the Rose City Resource looking for any kind of help but again I strike out. I don’t have HIV/AIDS, I’m no longer a “young” person, nor do I have an abusive spouse or partner.

Obituary: Robert Durning: 1941-2010

Robert Durning, a popular former vendor with Street Roots, passed away at the Oregon Health and Science University on Sept. 29. He was 68 years old.

Robert was born in Aurora, Colo., and moved with his parents and sister Barb to Whittier, Calif. He was a baseball player in his youth, and was a left-handed pitcher with the Dodgers between 1959 and 1961. After leaving the team, he worked as a handyman and helped out people in his neighborhood.

Bob is survived by his niece Valerie and her husband Edward Sweatt, and their daughter Julianne, all of Santa Barbara. He’s also survived by his brother-in-law, David E. Lamb, also of Santa Barbara.

Youth outreach programs awarded city support

Staff Reports

Janus Youth, one of the cornerstone organizations behind Portland’s Homeless Youth Continuum, is among several grantees receiving relief funding through the city of Portland’s one-time $1 million pool. (The city is expected to announce next week all of the groups who received money from the $1 million. See Proposals sought for $1 million for homeless programs.)

The funding fills a gap to keep the organization’s high-risk youth outreach and engagement program operating for the next year. The details of the award were not known as of press time, but it comes at a critical time for Janus and the entire Homeless Youth Continuum.

Extra! Extra!

We live in a plastic world, but don’t forget to squirrel away a bona fide  buck before you head out tomorrow morning, because you won’t want to miss the latest edition of Street Roots. Here’s what’s coming your way Friday morning:

Oregon’s budding future? Peter Buckley sees relief for the state’s financial nausea in legalized crops of cannabis. Amanda Waldroupe interviews the Oregon representative on his legislative proposal.

Plugged in with AMP: Former Consolidated musician shares the freed of music with Portland’s homeless youths. Devan Schwartz spends time with the band.

Our daily bread: Clackamas Service Center struggles to stay open as demand in the community continues to rise. Joanne Zuhl chronicles an afternoon at the center that provides food, meals, resources, health care and hope.

Pseudo Pink: A new column for Streets Roots from the gay perspective on the streets.

Plus, a letter from Melissa Walsh, on how being a Street Roots vendor has changed her life, and how you can give a hand to many more like her. And there’s more from Art Garcia’s dubious life poetry from the streets. Don’t miss the latest edition, ready and waiting Friday morning in the hardworking hands of your friendly neighborhood vendor!

Scott Simon’s journey home

Photo by Will O'Leary

The host of NPR’s Weekend Edition shares his family’s experience with international adoption

By Joanne Zuhl
Staff Writer

There’s an inherent — and appropriate — discomfort in asking someone you’ve never met before about the lengths to which he and his wife went to conceive a child. But Scott Simon isn’t exactly a complete stranger. As the signature voice and personality behind NPR’s Weekend Edition, Simon is a regular guest in homes across the country every Saturday morning.

Indeed, the fact that he and his wife, Caroline, could not conceive is probably not news to many of his listeners. Simon has talked openly about, and emotionally celebrated, the growth of his family through adoption, how he and his wife came to focus on China, and the response they received when they returned home a very different family than had left.

His new book, “Baby, We Were Meant for Each Other: In Praise of Adoption,” is a collection of essays on adoption, beginning with the story of the Simons’ adoption of daughters Elise and Lina from China in 2004 and 2007. It includes an essay on Portlander Thomas Lauderdale of Pink Martini, a friend of Simon’s and, by Simon’s estimation, one of the most brilliant people he knows.

Simon will be in Portland for one night, Oct. 4, for a speaking engagement at the Newmark Theater in Portland’s Center for the Performing Arts. The lecture is based on his new book, and proceeds will benefit  Journeys of the Heart Adoption Services based in Hillsboro.

Simon has taken home journalism’s most prestigious honors, including the Peabody, the Emmy, The Robert F. Kennedy Journalism Award and more recently, the Studs Terkel Award, to name only a few. He has covered 10 wars and penned multiple bestsellers, both non-fiction and novels, often featuring his beloved Chicago Cubs. His writings have appeared in nearly every major newspaper in the country, and his face is becoming almost as well known as his voice in guest commentaries on the major networks.

But at home, he’s just “Baba,” father to Elise and Lina, ages 7 and 4, respectively.

New police column in SR — Street Blues: Black and white to gray

Editor’s note: Street Roots welcomes Officer Robert Pickett to our line of diverse columnists. Picket offers a fresh perspective from the view of a police officer working directly with our streets. We hope readers will gain a new understanding of the complex interaction betweeen homelessness, public safety and law enforcement that occurs daily in Portland.

I gotta drink or I’ll be sick!”

It was 9:30 a.m. and Mr. Hendricks was already halfway through a six-pack.  I’d found him under the Morrison Bridge approach in the inner southeast industrial district, and he fit perfectly the description of someone who had just committed a “beer run” from a nearby convenience store. His frank admission about why he stole the beer summed up the complex situation brilliantly.

Mr. Hendricks had been a frequent consumer of police services in this area over the past month.   Passersby had been calling often about the tall, dark-haired gentleman who was often staggering in traffic or dropping his pants to pee in full view of Portland’s public.  Convenience stores had also been calling about their escaping beer. I’d personally dealt with him a number of times, as had other officers in the district. Our solution was often to call Hooper Detox, which would dispatch a van to come and take him to the drunk tank for a few hours. Detox staff would sometimes check his blood alcohol level with a portable breathalyzer, so I knew that Mr. Hendricks’ baseline BAC was a number that would probably leave me unconscious, or at best praying to the porcelain god. He’d developed such a tolerance that he was almost fully functional at that level. Unfortunately if he let it drop too far below that, his body would begin going through withdrawal — sickening, possibly deadly, if not monitored carefully.  Living outside, without any income, Mr. Hendricks did the only thing he could think of to get the medicine he needed — he stole it.

Clearly, one of my jobs is to enforce criminal laws, but do I arrest him for this? Do I simply arrange another trip to detox with the knowledge that he’ll be out stealing more beer before the end of the day?  What do I tell the convenience store clerk who keeps watching his beer walk out of the store? I’d previously referred him to the county’s in-patient sobering program, but there is a waitlist for that service, and it takes persistence and initiative from the patient, something that Mr. Hendricks had not shown thus far.

This was not the sort of gray-area scenario I expected when first considering a police career.

Popular culture shows officers tracking down the most heinous of criminals, cleverly catching them in the act or eliciting a full confession afterward, followed by the satisfying and finalizing click of handcuffs being applied.  A clear bad guy caught and put away where no more harm can be done.  Case closed.

Such was certainly my image of policing back in high school, when my parents say I first spoke of becoming a cop. Growing up in a medium-sized town in Indiana, I wasn’t exposed to much of society’s ills. I played soccer and had a paper route. I was a Boy Scout, for goodness sake. I wouldn’t describe our family as rich, but we were never lacking, and my parents are together to this day.  The couple of times I saw my parents drink alcohol in 18 years were wine at dinner parties.

My innocent upbringing continued at an idyllic, liberal-arts college in rural Minnesota, where I studied nitty-gritty, practical stuff like political philosophy and Japanese. After graduation I needed to explore a little, and went to Japan where I worked as an English teacher in public schools.  It was during these four years in Japan, followed by a year of backpacking and motorcycling in Asia and Europe that I got a taste for other ways of living, including exposure to real poverty.

It wasn’t until becoming an officer in 2002, however, that I started to learn about the challenges facing my own culture. As someone usually called at last resort to patch society’s breakdowns, I began a lengthy course of study in what ails us.  And while still not an expert on any of them, I’ve learned a lot about poverty, addiction, violence, politics, homelessness, race, bureaucracy, mental illness, social services, the law, the media, the police.

I’ve also learned that each individual person I’m called to, or stumble across, is usually receiving my services because of a lengthy string of failures, personal and/or societal, that occurred way before I entered the story. I try my best to make a sound decision while surrounded by this miasma of gray, but being human, certainly I sometimes add to this string.

It turns out that Mr. Hendricks could have been even more succinct.

“It’s complicated,” would have said it all.

Two worlds from Ukraine & Somali living together under one roof in East Portland

Children from Lincoln Woods play their regular game of soccer. Photo by Jennifer Jansons

By Amanda Waldroupe, Staff Writer

The sun is beginning to set on a recent Tuesday evening at the fields behind outer east Portland’s Lincoln Elementary School, and upwards of 40 young boys are playing soccer. It’s hard to count or keep track of them — they are running too fast, following a white orb of a soccer ball that moves blurrily from one side of the field to the other.

Approximately half the kids are Russian or Ukrainian; the other half are of Somali descent. Viktor Bereznay is their coach. He is tall and athletically built with close cropped dark hair, and wears sports clothes and a whistle around his neck.

He occasionally joins in the game, but mostly observes and encourages the kids, shouting “nice try” and “let’s go,” and instructing one team to “come back” to their side of the field to play defense. When a score is made, Bereznay blows the whistle and calls out the score.

For nearly two hours, they play. As the evening wears on, a group of younger Somali boys breaks off from the game and plays nearby. Soon, there is shouting.

“Hey!” Bereznay shouts. “What are you doing over there? You’re supposed to be playing soccer.”

He jogs over to the boys. “He started it,” one boys tells him.

“What did he say?” Bereznay asks.

“He said something in Somali,” the boy says. “We’re going to fight.”

“No!” Bereznay says. “No fighting.”

The boys return to the game, but they soon splinter off again. Bereznay urges them to come back again. “No more fighting anymore,” he says. “No pointing fingers. No nothing.” He waves his arms through the air as he speaks, as if to swat away any notion of fighting.

Bereznay has been teaching the boys to play soccer for the last month. “You should have seen them at the beginning,” he says. “Now they are angels.”

Mother’s Day, 2010: A view from the street

By Nana M., Contributing Columnist

Surreal…an out-of-body experience…can’t really be happening to me. I wandered around near my old home in southeast Portland, searching for a likely place to lay my sleeping bag, thinking that at almost 57 years old, my arthritic body does not respond well to sleeping on the cold ground.  The youngsters refer to it as ‘camping’; for me, a fun day outdoors has always consisted of a day hike, followed by a night at the Four Seasons Hotel, with a hot shower and Jacuzzi. I’ve always tried to be a kind person, raised my daughter alone while my ex-husband ran away to Australia to avoid paying child support, returned to college at age 34 after working two jobs as a waitress to support us, then raising two grandchildren for ten years, and devoted myself to the citizens of Portland working as a social servant. Isn’t this supposed to buy me some Karmic points??

After I wallowed in pity for a bit, I realized that I am where I am, so how do I begin extricating myself from this situation? And exactly what was the recipe for disaster that landed me here? One part dysfunctional family issues, three parts medical, including physical, emotional and mental health, financial problems following a lay-off, and issues with my neighbors that I could not work out. Ultimately, I was laid off at the end of November and became homeless by the end of January. I began living in motels, spending all of my unemployment checks there, and began taking out payday loans to supplement for the other expenses. Eventually, the minute my check hit the bank electronically, all of it was whisked back out to pay the loan, and I was left with no money for shelter.

On my journey in the streets, I have met the very best and worst of humankind. I was extraordinarily lucky that the violence was limited to being spat upon, urinated on, called ‘dirty’ and other names in more than one language, and having all of my belongings sprayed with some type of harsh chemical while I used the bathroom at The Cheerful Tortoise. (Incidentally, PSU is my alma mater, and I often ate there while studying for finals, so if you are the students in question, please be aware that the people you see on the street probably have far more things in common with you than differences.) I believe that life would have been much worse for me had I not had my service animal, as folks are very territorial about the places they choose to sleep, and I began to understand this concept after being asked to leave several places, and having all of my belongings soaked with three-way sprayers in others. I met a very kind police officer who had arrived at Creston Park to investigate a group of kids who had scaled the fence to partake of the swimming pool. It was about 3 a.m., no more buses running, and he kindly did not run me off, seeing that all of my stuff, including me and the dog, were saturated. That same early morning, a different officer came by, wanting to know if that was really my dog, and laughed at me. I had experienced that same question earlier by a little boy, who could not conceive that the dog could be mine, as he could only visualize me in the current snapshot of time. I could expect that from the mind of a child, but was stunned by the lack of vision from a police officer. I guess that as with any agency, there are all levels of intelligence and compassion.

While I would never ask for money, there were folks who offered it, and usually at times when I was most in need. Most memorable for his kindness is the man who ran to catch up with me at the McDonald’s near PSU. His words were very healing at a time when I had begun to feel that a “bag lady” was who I was, rather than my current circumstance. He folded a $20 bill into my hand, looked me in the eye, and said, “I am so sorry that you are in this situation.” My eyes filled with tears, and all I could do was nod and say thank you. Sir, if you are reading this article, please know how much those words meant. I had begun to feel less than human, and you reminded me that it was indeed a circumstance in my life, not who I was as a person. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Also, Barbara Harrison paid for a night’s stay at Motel Six from her own pocket. She could have had the attitude, as many would, that it would be a waste of money, I would only be in the same situation the following night. Instead, for that night at least, I was safe.

My housing angel turned out to be Brad Taylor with JOIN, who responded to the telephone call I made during a meltdown. We did not connect on that occasion, but a few months later, I wandered into the JOIN office, seeking information about local resources, and by some miracle, Brad was at the front desk, remembered my story, and was able to get me into housing by the end of August, just a few days before our record monsoon.

Local social services such as Catholic Charities Housing Connections, SAFES, and Rose Haven allowed me a place to catch my breath, get a shower and change of clothing, and most importantly, gain awareness that I was not alone. These organizations allow people to maintain some sense of dignity. For those who are considering where to contribute to assist homeless people, I encourage you to support these organizations, as well as JOIN.

The ghosts of history: Recalling the Chinese Exclusion Act & the current immigration debate

by Robert Alford

Arizona’s controversial SB 1070 is the latest example in a long history of exclusionary immigration policy in the United States. The Arizona law attempted to permit police the right to detain anybody suspected of being in the country without authorization as well as making it a crime for immigrants not to carry legal residency documentation at all times. Those two parts of the law were blocked by a federal judge on July 28.

The law’s opponents claim that it is a gross violation of civil liberties, which will lead to racial profiling against the state’s Latino population, while its supporters claim that it is a necessary tool in stopping the rise of illegal immigration within the border state. The law is predicated upon the assumption that certain immigrant populations pose a threat to both the economy and the national identity within the United States.

These kinds of nativist sentiments have their direct historical antecedent in the Chinese Exclusion Laws of the 1800s, which effectively banned the immigration of all people of Chinese descent, and the Immigration Act of 1924, which established a quota system that favored Northern and Western European immigrants over Southern and Eastern Europeans and Asians.

The recently re-published novel, “Water Ghosts,” by author Shawna Yang Ryan, is set in the Chinese immigrant farming community of Locke, Calif., in 1928, during the aftermath of these repressive acts of legislation. One of the effects of these laws was to prevent Chinese women from joining their husbands who had previously emigrated to the United States. Denying married couples the ability to be together turned towns like Locke into communities of bachelors, populated almost entirely by men, with the exception of the white prostitutes who operated the town brothel. Ryan’s novel begins when three mysterious Chinese women arrive in Locke one day on a boat, floating through the mists of the Sacramento River. When one of these women turns out to be the wife of Richard Fong, the proprietor of the town’s gambling parlor, the mystery deepens, and the people of the town begin to suspect that these women may possess powers beyond the realm of understanding.

Ryan’s novel combines elements of myth and fantasy with historical realism in a style that is dreamlike and yet firmly grounded in the substance of history. Her characters are vividly drawn, and their stories provide the reader with insight into a period of our nation’s history that often goes untold. Originally published as “Locke, 1928” by the small press El Leon Literary Arts, the book was a finalist for the Northern California Book Award and was recently re-released as “Water Ghosts” by Penguin Books. In this interview, Ryan discussed the balance of historical and aesthetic elements within her novel, and the power of fiction in enriching our understanding of history.

Robert Alford: I’d like to begin by talking about the town of Locke, Calif. What inspired you to write about the history of this particular community?=

Shawna Yang Ryan: Well, Locke is a very interesting and unique place and I grew up in Sacramento, which is not that far away, so I’d visited Locke and had some memory of it. Then later when I got older and read up about it, I found out that not only was this community built by the Chinese and intended to be an all Chinese community, but that also, because they were working against the immigration laws of the time, it was a bachelor community, but they were trying very hard to establish it as a family community. And then they also had these brothels there which they wouldn’t allow Chinese women to work in, so they had white women working in them, which was also very unusual considering the anti-miscegenation laws of the time and the racial dynamics. So there were a lot of things going on in the town that make it a really interesting place to start talking about the Chinese immigrant experience in the early 20th century.

 

Editorial cartoon "A skeleton in His Closet" by L.M. Glackens in Puck Magazine, Jan. 3, 1912. Uncle Sam holds a paper,"Protest against Russian exclusion of Jewish Americans" and looks with shock upon a Chinese skelton labeled "American exclusion of Chinese" in his closet.

 

R.A.: What was your research process like in preparing to write your novel?

S.Y.R.: Well, I started with the library. I started with some book research to get a foundation, and I was also reading novels written in that time period to get a feel for the pop culture and the language and the style. And then I went and lived in Locke for a month so I could really get a sensory feeling for the place.

Vendor Profile: I know what they’re going through

By Leah Ingram, Contributing Writer

If you take a stroll through the Pearl District and turn onto 10th and Hoyt, you might be lucky enough to meet David Fink Jr, a Street Roots vendor.  David is the kind of guy whom you could find reminiscent of a quiet Woody Guthrie as he stands by a light post, bedecked simply in a brown camo coat and blue jeans. He possesses an unassuming air and a refreshingly genuine persona tempered by a past littered with hardship and conversion, exhaustion and renewal.

Fink has criss-crossed the country from the East Coast to the West Coast and back again, traveling through Alabama, Montana, West Virginia and Oregon. Whether it was by foot or Greyhound bus, he trekked through these states enjoying everything between southern cooking and the sight of majestic mountains. He says that traveling can be difficult, but that he would do odd jobs to make a little bit of money here and there.