Booted from every shelter in the area, one man shares his story of life on the street

By Brandi Makuski

“I’ve got two addictions—this and alcohol,” Johnny said on the morning of Oct. 9, holding up a cigarette.

The temperature was a mild 56 degrees that morning but felt colder with 14-mile-an-hour winds. Johnny extinguished his cigarette and pressed his hands between his knees, huddled in a chair outside of Zest Coffeehouse on Prentice St. He wasn’t really dressed for the fall weather—a dark sweatshirt, jeans, and a pair of holey, secondhand tennis shoes he donned without socks. The shoes, he said, were a gift from an employee of a local gas station he frequents.

Johnny, who spoke with the Metro Wire on the condition of anonymity, had some fresh shaving cuts on his chin: the result of a hasty shave and shower at the Stevens Point Area YMCA about an hour before, he explained sheepishly. Those showers are rare, he admits, and this one was purchased for him by someone he refers to as a “non-drinking friend.”

Johnny, 50, said he’s been homeless for a little over three years. He’s been kicked out of area sober houses, various shelters, and the downtown warming center, because of his behavior when he drinks. He says he’s still welcome at the Salvation Army Hope Center—when he’s sober, and when they have room. Neither occurs very often, he said. 

He’s slept in vacant buildings, laundromats, garbage corrals, doorways, and in a “tent city” in the woods near Mead Park. Typically, it’s a different place each night because, before long, he and the other homeless people he’s with are “run out by the cops.” 

The road to homelessness

Johnny doesn’t have much in the way of family. His parents are deceased, though he has some relatives sprinkled across central Wisconsin, including one homeless brother somewhere in the Red Granite area.

Johnny described himself as “the nicest guy in the world unless I’m drinking,” a claim almost illustrated by the fact that he’s had more than 20 police contacts in the past three months and nine arrests over the past three years. Offenses range from urinating in public to trespassing—like getting caught sleeping at laundromats he’s previously been asked to leave—and retail theft. 

“Mike is cool. His is just the coolest cop, cooler than sh–,” Johnny said, referencing Stevens Point Police Officer Mike Radsek, who had just arrived at Zest; a quasi-chaperone for the interview, present at Johnny’s request. “I’ve never been in jail in my life until a few years ago when I started screwing up with alcohol…I started getting to know the cops. They’ve all been nicer to me than they really need to be.”

Johnny has Tourette syndrome, a disorder that involves involuntary repetitive movements or unwanted sounds or tics that aren’t easily controlled.

“When I was a kid it was really bad, but I don’t need to take the meds anymore,” Johnny explained. He blames his alcoholism for his inability to keep a job, and so Johnny lives on a monthly Social Security Disability Insurance payment of about $840.

“I never thought I’d be in this boat in my life,” Johnny said. “I use to take in the homeless.”

Johnny became too overcome with emotion to talk much about his family—particularly a niece who recently underwent medical treatment following a drug overdose—and jumped quickly from one topic to another. He says he dropped out of school at the age of 16, but he refused to discuss the details, outside of having been introduced to beer by “an older Mexican” who lived down the street from his family when he was 12.

“I’ve tried to go back to school a few times, but it’s never gonna happen,” he said.

Instead of talking about his journey to life on the streets, Johnny preferred to reminisce about when life was easier. About 10 years ago, he was working part-time as a maintenance man in a Stevens Point chain restaurant. He was able to keep an apartment on Dixon St., where he took in friends who lost their homes or ran into bad luck.

But he said following the death of a few family members, his alcohol consumption began taking control of his life. During a night of drinking he no longer remembers, Johnny said he caused over $1,000 in property damage to his apartment, and couldn’t find another landlord willing to rent to him. 

Compounded by legal problems

“I can’t get into any other place except a motel,” he said, saying he ultimately moved into the Point Motel, 209 Division St. North, where he lived for seven months. Soon after moving in, he began shoplifting alcohol from Trig’s, becoming more daring each time he wasn’t caught, until he finally was.

“That’s how I got the know some of the cops,” he said, sharing a look with Radsek.

After Point Motel raised the rent for monthly tenants by $50, Johnny said he moved to the less expensive Knights Inn on the city’s southside, where he lived for over a year.

“And then I started going to Save A Lot, and I started stealing Mike’s Hard Lemonade from there—I’d sneak them off to the bathroom and was slamming them in there. I was always nervous about doing it, I always felt guilty for doing it. And then I got caught on camera. I was taking some of the [Tylenol] PM pills, too. The cops came through the door, and I denied it, but they had the picture of me right there,” he said, laughing.

In that instance, Johnny was sentenced to probation for charges of retail theft and bail-jumping. He agreed to enter an alcohol treatment program in order to avoid jail time but left before completing it, after meeting someone who helped get him a room at The Castle in downtown Stevens Point. He says he was “asked to leave” that residence because of his drinking.

Johnny said his probation was soon revoked and he spent several months in the Portage Co. Jail, sober that whole time. But upon his 2017 release, he “had no place to go, so then I became homeless—like, really homeless.”

A system with no place for people like him

Radsek, who keeps regular tabs on the city’s homeless population, said some motels in the area charge as much as $650 for monthly tenants, and are often beacons for drug and alcohol problems, so it’s not a practical living situation for someone like Johnny.

“Plus, that’s ridiculous for someone who’s on a fixed income, almost all your income going to rent,” Radsek said.

Johnny has a caseworker at a local assistance agency who operates as a payee for his SSDI. The caseworker, Johnny said, has been saving as much of his monthly income as possible so he’s prepared to pay rent when the time comes. Johnny is granted an allowance of $30 a week, and while he collects aluminum cans to bring in a few extra dollars, he admits that he still steals alcohol when necessary to maintain his habit.

Johnny also gets $16 each month through the state’s FoodShare program. Radsek said that amount would be higher if Johnny had a physical address.

“I don’t understand that; that’s the result of a broken system,” Radsek said.

Out of nowhere, Johnny abruptly changed the topic of conversation to a recent trip to New York City, paid for by his non-drinking friend. In the same breath, Johnny described his emotional reaction to Ground Zero to the “fabulous” dinner he had at an Italian restaurant the next day, to being nearly overcome by his fear of heights while inside the Statute of Liberty.

The non-drinking friend lets Johnny stay the night from time-to-time, pays for entrance to the YMCA so Johnny can shower, and invites him along on various trips. That afternoon the two were planning to see the foliage at Rib Mountain, Johnny said.

“I helped pay for some of those trips; he held onto all my money, wouldn’t let me drink at all,” Johnny said. “I went a whole week without drinking in New York.”

Winter is coming

Radsek then turned the conversation back to Johnny’s living arrangements. Or, at least, he tried to. 

“We were talking about what we’re going to do when it gets really cold out, weren’t we?” Radsek prodded gently. 

“I know, I’m sleeping right over here—,” Johnny began, pointing to a nearby enclosed garbage corral behind a vacant building.

“I know, but that’s not going to work when it’s 40 below out,” Radsek replied.

Johnny insisted he was prepared for the winter weather, saying he had a special thermal blanket designed for the extreme cold. 

With Radsek’s help, Johnny said he was back on the waiting list for a Portage Co. Housing Authority voucher. But with only a handful of rental management companies that accept housing vouchers, Radsek wasn’t sure how much luck Johnny would have, considering his past behavior.

“If you burn one (management company), none of the rest will take you,” Radsek explained. Then, to Johnny, Radsek said, “We talked yesterday about choices; you want to freeze to death?”

Johnny did not respond for several seconds, but then smiled, and boasted, “I was toasty last night. But I know it ain’t even winter yet. I know.”

No ‘real desire’ to stop drinking

When asked if he’d ever considering joining Alcoholics Anonymous, or a similar program, Johnny scoffed.

“No, I’ve been drinking since I was 12,” he said. “I have no real desire to stop. I can’t picture myself without it. I’ve always tried to cut back; I never meant for it to get like this.”

Then, looking down at his hands, Johnny said he didn’t like talking about his drinking. He nodded in Radsek’s direction.

“He’s seen me drunk a few times; he’s found my head on the—I don’t even wanna talk about it,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. After a few moments, Johnny explained that he was so intoxicated one night that he passed out on the train tracks.

“Somehow they found me and Mike (Radsek) called the ambulance,” he said, crying. “He told me about it later, I didn’t know, I blacked out.”

Johnny said the incident was humiliating. And again, he quickly changed the topic.

“I’ve thought about getting another job. I’d like to get back into janitorial, but I haven’t made any moves yet,” he said. “I felt good about myself when I was working. I wish I did have a part-time job. It’s something to do during the day.”

For now, Johnny said he spends most of his days walking the streets of Stevens Point. People recognize him, and some wave or honk their horns as they drive by. Some regular acquaintances pass along used clothing or offer him a free soda from the convenience store fountain. Sometimes he stops by the Place of Peace, the Salvation Army Hope Center, and other places open to the homeless during the day and offers to help clean or with other tasks, for a few hours. At least, when he’s sober.

Then, Johnny mentions that he’s got a resume on file at an employment agency on Hwy. 10. Radsek offered to drive him there. Then, noticing Johnny’s shoes, Radsek asked, “Where are your socks?”

“Oh, I threw them away,” Johnny replied dismissively. “They were all dirty and nasty, so I just threw them out.”

That’s how it goes with Johnny, Radsek said. After arranging to meet a short time later, when Radsek would drive Johnny to the Salvation Army for new socks on the way to the employment agency, Johnny disappeared into the garbage corral to prepare for another day on the streets.

Johnny is one of two local homeless people who have burned every bridge they’ve crossed, Radsek said. It’s hard to tell for sure, but he estimates the city has anywhere from 8 to 12 truly homeless individuals. Most work within the system and corporate to some degree with the options they’re offered. But not Johnny.

“He just doesn’t want help,” said Radsek, the Crisis Intervention Officer at SPPD. “I mean, we do what we can, we keep tabs on them as best we can, and I stop and talk to them, try to get them help when we can. But there’s only so much we can do for him.”