Concrete Pillows
In New York City
by Herb Bardavid
This is Leon
Leon sat on a thin piece of cardboard, an emblem of resilience, as he faced the Magolia Bakery. Renowned for its rich coffee and exquisite pastries, the bakery stood in stark contrast to the harsh reality of his life. At 39 years old, Leon has spent the last nine months homeless in New York City. It is the best of times, and it is the worst of times.
Born and raised in the Bronx, Leon is one of three children who once thrived amid the city's energy. He attended high school in the South Bronx, but the weight of his circumstances forced him to drop out in his freshman year.
At that time, his mother divorced and moved to South Carolina. He joined her, and rather than continuing his education, he took on the responsibility of working to support his mother and grandmother.
He took on jobs mopping floors at Arby's.
And working for a delivery company, striving to provide for his family despite the toll it took on his dreams. Yet dreams often shatter under the harsh realities. At 21, Leon found himself suffocated by the overt racism of the South, prompting his return to the Bronx in search of solace.
Unfortunately, the refuge he sought turned into another battlefront; an explosive altercation with his father nine months ago drove him from home.
With deep resolve, he declared that the pavement was preferable to enduring the turmoil within his family. The details of that night remained locked away, too painful to revisit.
When I asked Leon at 11:45 A.M. when he had last eaten, a shadow crossed his face. "Yesterday Morning," he replied. I sought out a nearby food truck and returned with chicken and rice.
He is caught in a web of bureaucracy, striving to reclaim his dignity with the help of a social service agency, as he seeks housing and essential documents for a fresh start. He expressed a strong desire to return to school and get his high school diploma. Until that day, he continues to use the concrete pillows of the New York City sidewalks.
Life on the streets has morphed into a grim kind of normalcy for Leon. When I broached the topic of "Stop and Frisk," his frustration erupted; he shook his head vehemently as he recounted the daily indignities of being stopped multiple times while living in the South Bronx. "Police don't like young black men."
I asked if the upscale bakery objected to his presence. No, they have not bothered him.
Like many homeless individuals, he avoided the shelters. They are overcrowded and dangerous.
He had once spent 30 days in Rikers Island Jail for smoking marijuana before its legalization.
Leon yearns for the opportunity to work, yet the barriers loom large: without a phone, a computer, or a permanent address the doors to opportunity remain shut.