Concrete Pillows
In New York City
by Herb Bardavid
This is Fredrick
As I walked along Reade Street near City Hall, New York City, I saw Fredrick stretched out on the steps of a storefront, looking unusually comfortable. He was wrapped in a warm blanket, holding a large can of soda, and when our eyes met, he gave me a gentle smile and a soft hello.
I explained to him that I photograph and interview elderly people and unhoused New Yorkers to understand what life is like for them, and he seemed to fit both categories. When I said he appeared homeless, he smiled again and said, "Well, not exactly." In the Netherlands, where he is originally from, the expression is "without a roof."
From there, his story unfolded in a long, winding, and often bewildering way.
Fredrick told me that in 1986, he was living in a house in the Netherlands that had been in his family for many generations.
A bitter conflict with his sister's husband led to something almost unimaginable: his brother-in-law allegedly kidnapped Fredrick's one-year-old daughter in an attempt to seize the property. During what Fredrick described as a police shootout, the child was shot and killed.
After that, he said, his connection to the house - and to ordinary life-collapsed. And yet, in a way that defies time, he still claims to be in litigation in the Netherlands over the same family home, nearly four decades later.
He attempted to explain that he had to be in the United States to litigate the issue; however, each time he tried to explain the situation, I was unable to understand him.
Although he has lived on the streets of New York City since the late 1980s, he does not consider himself homeless. In his mind, he is simply waiting for what is still legally his, back home in the Netherlands.
Fredrick is 65 years old now. He is articulate, reflective, and clearly intelligent. He told me he once worked as an audio engineer, held responsible jobs, and made good money. Eventually, though, he grew tired of routine and of the weight of responsibility. What he wanted, he said, was some peace, some freedom, and to be left alone.
The tragic death of his daughter was more than his marriage could handle. He and his wife separated shortly after his daughter's death. He moved to the United States in an attempt to escape the pain.
He likes being a loner. He has no family, nor any close friendships. He manages his life well on the city's streets. Sometimes, staying in the city shelters, but mostly alone on the concrete pillows of New York City