4:30 am....
Oops I forgot I’m homeless; we don’t get up that early.

10:00 am. That’s better. (At an undisclosed location.)

I get up out of my sleeping bag and, as usual, I urinate on my shoes. I don’t care, I’m homeless. After that, I go over and wake up my invisible friend Rick. He’s got some pretty serious mental health issues but, hey, he’s still my friend. Morning! Did you sleep okay? Without saying a word Rick takes a long swig off the K.D. and just gets up and pees on his shoes. Where do you want to eat today Rick? I said!! Where do you want to eat today?

Rick has that look, a look I’ve seen too many times before, like he has other plans. Rick hits a roach. “This place is a mess!” Rick says in a loud shrill voice, blowing out smoke at the same time. “What? What do you mean? I like our camp; it has all the comforts of home,” I say. “It’s all junk,” Rick replies, “nothing but junk.” “Fine,” I say reluctantly. “Let’s go get rid of it in the dumpster over there.” There’s that look again. “No, I got a better idea, let’s take it to the other side of the river, across the bridge, around the corner and four blocks down to the Ballpark neighborhood. Let's piss ‘em off and drop it all in their neighborhood.”

So I strapped the old mattress that has been at the camp for at least as long as Rick has, to my back. Tied the old dresser drawers on to the mattress, filled all the drawers full of the litter that is strewn around the camp (a lot of beer cans and whiskey bottles, you know, homeless people garbage) and put my trusty spray paint can up under my ball cap so as no one would see it. I’m sneaky like that. I got on my bike and off I went across the river, over the bridge, around the corner and four blocks down.




Rick always beats me to wherever it is we’re going, and he don’t even own a bike. “What took you so long?” Rick asks. Damn dude, I got all this junk on my back and I thought the cops seen my spray paint, so I had to give ‘em the slip,” I lied and handed Rick the spray paint.




I dumped the mattress in the most obvious dumpster that I could find, unpacked the dresser of all the litter, and threw the dresser against the wall. CRASH!! Then I proceeded to strategically place all the litter in the streets and the alleys.




After all this I decided to knock out a quick painting with Rick. When I got back to the alley where Rick was, there were three of the local drug dealers helping Rick paint all their social security numbers on the garage door, along with some very lifelike self-portraits. Very impressive, I said to my favorite drug dealer, but don’t forget the mole under your right eye. I pissed in the corner.

The cops are not your friends. I’ll say it again, the cops are not you friends, got that everybody. They have a job to do and that job is to arrest people. If they come up to you and pose as a friend, that is only because they are seeking information. That same friendly cop you talked to and thought was your friend would stand by or even assist another cop beat the shit out of you and then testify in court, under oath, that you were the aggressor.

Don’t talk to cops. They are not your friends. Everything you say to them can be used against you and if you tell them one lie, they can bust you for lying to a Police Officer. They on the other hand are not only permitted, but encouraged to lie to you and you have no recourse. You can’t tell the judge, “He lied to me.” The judge will just say, “So what, that’s his job.”

Believe me, I speak from experience. I was not always a good girl and I have been arrested many times in the last 65 years. (I served 30 days on a prison farm in 1968.) There is a thing they call the “the thin blue line” and no cop who wants to keep his job and his standing with his fellow officers will cross it. They will lie under oath, they will fake evidence, they will do anything to show that you are lying and they are telling the truth.

Guess who the judge or jury is going to believe? It ain’t going to be you, my friend.

So the lesson here is, don’t talk to cops, keep your mouth shut except to ask if you are being detained. Don’t tell them any more than you have to. They are your adversaries. Ask if you are free to go and if they say yes, beat feet, and thank your lucky stars. Being arrested in Denver can be lethal.

Get Loud received a copy of the following letter written by Thomas Wakute Hayes to the Regional Transportation District’s Manager of Safety. Mr Hayes gave Get Loud permission to print the letter. We have chosen to redact the names of the RTD officers involved in the incident.

August 11, 2014
Manager of Security
Regional Transportation District
1600 Blake Street
Denver CO 80202

My name is Thomas Hayes. I am a 58 year old Native American. I am also homeless.

On August 8th 2014, myself and another Native American male (who is crippled and on SSDI) were on our way to the Denver U.S.Mint to stand in line and wait for a ticket. Upon receiving the first 100 tickets, each ticket holder would receive $500. This I knew to be true and the guards and police that work at the Mint knew it as well. My friend and myself would have received a total of $1000 had we made it on time, but unfortunately we were late and did not receive any payment or tickets because [Officer 1] suspended me from the RTD and I had been escorting my disabled friend.

We stopped at Union Station to use the bathroom and our intention was to then ride the free mall bus to the Civic Center Station and walk to the Mint.

As my friend waited for me I used the toilet and as I always do after using the toilet, I washed my hands. As I was finishing washing my hands [Officer 1] entered the bathroom and started saying to me, “I told you - you can’t come in here!” and I said, “I had to use the bathroom and I have bus fare.” He said, “I told you - you can’t bathe in here.” I said “I’m not bathing! I am washing my hands because I used the restroom.” I heard other officers outside the bathroom so I walked out there and asked [Officer 2] if I looked wet. He first stated “No” then he looked at [Officer 1] and said, “I can’t say.” I asked the other officers if I looked wet as I had been completely dry and they said, “I can’t say.” I then informed them if they wanted to lie for [Officer 1] then they will probably be doing it in court. They had no reply.

I asked my friend if I looked wet and he said “No.”

[Officer 1] then called in my ID and said I had been warned before about washing up. This is a lie. I remember [Officer 1] stopping me a week or so prior and he had harassed me at that time as well but did not give me a ticket. I remember him saying to me, “I’m sure it’s society’s fault you turned out bad,” among other things that sounded like he was haranguing me as he followed me up the escalator and outside.

I have several friends, one of whom is noticeably Native American and his girlfriend who is pretty and looks white. She stated that whenever she and her boyfriend go into Union Station, [Officer 1] follows them right away and tells them they have to go. But she said that when she goes into Union Station by herself he never says anything, so she thinks he is discriminatory towards Native Americans. She stated she would testify to these occurrences.

Because [Officer 1] wrote me a “Notice of Suspension” ticket my friend--who is crippled and cannot be out on the Denver streets at night without someone to protect him--suffered undue hardship that night walking from Union Station to the Denver Mint, and we were late getting there and then we both had to walk back. This took me most of the night walking him back as he shuffles very slowly.

Respectfully Submitted,

Thomas Hayes

(Editor’s note: Recently Mr. Hayes informed us that his letter appealing his suspension was successful--the Commander of the Transit Police, Bob Mickelson, notified him on August 19th that his suspension had been lifted. Congratulations Wakute--it pays to fight back!!

Also, in an email to Get Loud Thomas Wakute Hayes wrote:

Yes you can publish the letter...or use it in way that will help those Americans that have fallen through the cracks down into this hidden world. A world without news or media.  One where those sleeping on the streets or in the parks hear of weird and violent occurrences at night.  Yet these people (Americans) in the daylight barely mention anything for the most part but they fear at night. 

You're right that the mangled are being mangled further for selfish reasons of false bravado, false superiority, and false pride as well. The possible wages one can earn after such a fall 99% of the time will not pay for rent and/or even deposit, even if one were to try to save money while sleeping on the streets where even your bag ends up lost or stolen way too often. 

The news media claims homelessness in Denver is because of legalized marijuana, but that is not true - homelessness is now widespread in America. I have seen soldiers down here and people with social blemishes and doctors and people from whom banks have stolen their savings. America needs to wake up the news media and say that: "Hey this is not our fault...this is your fault!"  The opposite of abject poverty is not wealth, the opposite of poverty is Justice!

For the record my only brother, five years older than myself, is on the Vietnam wall, 1971, October 16th. I have other coffin flags in my family as well. I thought we Americans paid to be treated better than this. Don't get me wrong, the food lines are a great compassionate effort, but the other three fourths of wealthy Americans seem to have their consciences padded daily by avoiding the fact in their light-hearted lives that millions of Americans slept on the ground last night or in some over-crowed shelter where everyone has continuous cough-like symptoms called the Mission Condition.

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And finally, we received this poem from Mr Hayes:

Blunt the sharpness;
Untangle the knots;
Soften the glare;
Let your wheels move only along old ruts.

Don’t seek and don’t expect. Be patient and wait until your mud settles and your water is clear. Be patient and wait. Your mud will settle. Your water will clear.