Loft Living, Hustleman and Homelessness
Tags: Loft, Homelessness, Birmingham, Downtown, Homeless

I have always been a city kid. Concrete, curbs and noise have been ever-present most of my life. As unnatural as I know these things are, they are what I know. I grew up riding public transportation with over-sized headphones and a head full of Hip-Hop.

So, it was natural that I would eventually become a downtown loft dweller. Twice.

I was 28-years-old when I moved into Liberty House Lofts in Downtown Birmingham in November 2003. It was the beginning of a major shift in sentiment about downtown. Young professionals were beginning to move downtown en masse. The coming of a second renaissance.

Birmingham’s Background

Liberty House Lofts was a peanut butter brown, four-story brick building located on 1st Avenue North and 23rd street, was built in 1909. Like most of the lofts between 1st Avenue North and Morris Avenue, the original purpose of the building was to serve as a warehouse for goods to be distributed throughout Birmingham or the Southeast via the railroad located just a few hundred yards away.

Birmingham was founded in 1871 (150 years next year) — just thirty years before Liberty House and many other buildings were built downtown. Downtown was borne out of the mining successes at Red Mountain and Ruffner Mountain; catapulted by the industrial revolution. As it relates to cities in the South doing major commerce Birmingham was it — the “Magic City” as it were — a nickname worthy of our amazing, explosive growth.

The building known as Liberty House Lofts was a consequence of a bigger movement. After nearly a century of service as a warehouse for Birmingham grocers, automobile dealerships and, likely, many others, Liberty House was purchased by local developer, Adam Cohen, in the late 1990s and converted into a 16-unit loft complex.

Unit 208

It was a hidden gem. I moved in with my fiance, just a few months before our wedding. Our loft was two-stories with exposed red bricks and hardwood floors that looked truly original but well maintained. We paid $800 a month for 2,200 square feet. It was a great deal, especially for the novelty and conveinience of being downtown. We did not engage our neighbors much, but for the most part they appeared to be similarly situated. Young professionals making their way. A travelling writer for Southern Progress at the end of the hall, a freelance photographer (Taylor Robinson) right next door, among others that we saw coming and going. The building had a waterbug problem though. The biggest, boldest, muscular and Kevlar-shelled waterbugs you have ever seen. They nearly ran us out of there, but we stayed aggressive with bug killers.

One of my favorite pasttimes was go to the rooftop terrace and just dream about my future. The view was nice and I can recall reciting positive mantras as I enjoyed a 360 degree view of Jones Valley, looking at Birmingham in all directions. I used to envision myself serving in a bigger role, truly leading in the city; setting tone, inspiring others my own unique way.

The first new lounge in Downtown Birmingham opened right across the street around the time we moved in. That lounge — Steel — evolved over the years, eventually changing ownership and name until it finally closed as the lounge known as 1st and 23rd in September 2019.

The Literacy Council of Birmingham anchored the ground floor of the building. I would eventually serve on the board of directors of the Council and co-chaired their 2007 annual Loft Tour fundraiser held during Mother’s Day weekend.

The Real Homeless

Loft living is unique because of it puts you in such close proximity to a diverse group of people. Surely, seeing neighbors in and out of their apartments and underground parking garage was a daily engagement. But, so was seeing the shop owner sweeping the sidewalk near the threshold of her door. Or, the couple down the street with their bay doors up working on never-ending renovation projects. The sanitation workers who stop mere feet from you and whose names you may know.

There are no characters more distinctive and unique to downtown than members of the homeless community. One’s relationship to the homeless community can no longer be ambivalent, if it ever had been. They are not distant others, they are quite literally your neighbors with their own lives, viewpoints and feelings. They are more than what our judgy, averted eyes see in them.

One such neighbor made a significant impression on me. He was commonly known as Hustleman in the city blocks he occupied. Thin, scraggly beard and one of the most verbose homeless folks I have ever met. He was loud, lucid, industrious, intelligent and caring. More than anything else he took such pride in the blocks he embraced as his neighborhood.

Hell, he was there before most of us. Truth be told it was his neighborhood. The rest of us — mostly new professionals — were mere interlopers. Squatters, young adults in transition, finding our identities, careers and mates. We weren’t at home yet.

We were all homeless, so to speak.

Meet Hustleman

Hustleman always walked fast and rarely carried bags or belongings. He only carried the tools he needed to work odd jobs of which he seemed to have an abundance. He carried a white five gallon bucket, a few rags and a hose he could attach to any building to access water needed to wash cars. He was always washing cars.

It sounds crass to say, but I was never impressed with his car washes. It wasn’t his fault. He used the same rags, cold water and could really only do so much without better materials. But, he worked hard.

Hustleman talked a lot. He was curious about his neighbors, he asked questions. He cared about us and he wanted us to care about him too. Neighbors introduced him to their kids. In fact, my best friend lived in a loft across the Morris Avenue — literally across the street from me — and he was intentional to have his 10-year-old son know Hustleman and to be respectful to him. One day, one of my neighbors was exiting the garage in her car without her seatbelt on. Hustleman stood in the driveway admonishing her to put on her seatbelt. She did, he moved, and she left.

Hustleman was right where he wanted to be.

I never considered him a pan handler, but he was certainly unabashed about asking for help. I can hear him now, “Hey man, let me hold five dollars.” I always told him no, but I would drop him off here and there at times. And, if we happened to be at or near a restaurant at the same time I would buy him a meal, but that was very rare. After all, Downtown Birmingham was not nearly a destination for foodies in the early 2000s.

I have strong feelings about engaging homeless community members. First, I do not give cash when asked. Never. But, I have and do buy meals on the spot. I also run errands or provide transportation. I made it an earlier priority to know enough about our homeless shelters and resources so that I can direct people to them. But, I will not give them cash. Surely, by relieving of food or transporation costs I may be freeing up cash for them to spend on bad habits. Well, maybe that is true but not everyone who is homeless has an addiction or habits any worse than the rest of us. Still, I prefer to help a person directly and put them in a position to pursue cash in other ways. That is how I roll.

Anyway, Hustleman’s diction, erect posture and clarity of thought confounded me. I used to ponder quietly, “Why is he homeless?” It wasn’t long before I was running an errand with him and in a position to hear his story.

His real name was James Griffin. He was from Pennsylvania. He had two children that he had not spoken with in a long time, but he was clearly proud of them. He did a brief stint in the military. He had a drug problem. He would disappear for days or a week at a time and then re-emerge. A little more straggly each time. He was so transparent about his challenges. His regrets and his passions sat right on the surface. At least, they did with me. I engaged him as a full person. A lot of people did.

So, in 2006, when the time came for us to move out of the loft, it was James that I asked to help me clean up. We swept those chestnut floors which seemed even more beautiful than I remembered when we moved in a few years earlier. We wiped down counters and took the last of the trash to the dumpster. We left the key to the loft on the counter, turned out the light and headed outside where I put the first and last fist full of cash in the hands of a so-called homeless person.

Ten years later James was tragically killed by gun violence under the viaduct he made his home. He wasn’t some homeless guy, he was a full member of our community and his murder affected the identity of the neighborhood.

2nd Time Around

I moved back downtown in 2016. Literally at the end of the same block I previously occupied. Single and in transition all over again, my move was extra intentional. My friend, Randall Woodfin, moved into the loft building next door back in 2006, within months of my departure. So, it was fortuitious that I was moving back around the time we were planning his run for Mayor. I thought it would be helpful to stay close to him and ensure enough space to accomodate small group meetings. It was a good move and a really special time. Plus, my loft was awesome!

The downtown I returned to was not the same one I left. Downtown housing units increased nearly ten-fold in ten years. Restaurants, tech companies and lounges were sprinkled throughout the area. My best friend had since moved out and his son was now old enough to have a drink in the lounge across the street. I was divorced from the fiance with whom I had previously moved in. And, goodness, Hustleman was killed.

Still, there were other characters. Like this fellow Randall and I noticed as we walked passed an alleyway adjoining the 24th street viaduct on Morris Avenue. After a brief conversation we learned that this fellow — recognizable by some downtowners by his familiar headwrap and blazer jackets — was just resting.

He said nothing was wrong. Heck, it seemed to me he was liberated from social norms.

Evolution

Well, I grew up and downtown had as well. The new, transient community I was a part of in 2006 had matured and settled. Older, stable couples lived alongside the new professionals. And, many of those new professionals have grown into seasoned professionals — including one Mayor Randall L. Woodfin. By now, many long-time downtown residents have lived in their lofts for as long as many people live in their houses.

And, there are those special residents that don’t live in lofts or houses. But they are our neighbors. They may be the very first persons we interact with when we arrive in Downtown Birmingham.

I hope you meet someone like James “Hustleman” Griffin. If you do, then you will truly appreciate the old Birmingham adage: It is nice to have you in Birmingham.