In my previous post, I mentioned that I had once been a part of the Job Corps program. It has defined several aspects of my life over the past 8 years. First, I'll give a brief overview of the program for those of you who are not aware of it.
Job Corps is a program administered under the U.S. Department of Labor's auspices for individuals who are between the ages of 16 to 24. It's intent is to provide free vocational and academic training to individuals in that particular age bracket. It's main goal is to help disadvantaged youth gain a better footing in the nation. It was founded in 1964 by Sargent Shriver, one of the lead architects of Lyndon Johnson's "War On Poverty", and also the man behind the Peace Corps and the Head Start program. Job Corps as a program was modeled after the Depression era Civilian Conservation Corps, and today is found at 125 locations spread throughout all 50 states, one territory and within Washington, D.C. Throughout all of these years, it has been persistent on helping to alleviate the symptoms of poverty, while simultaneously striving to give the students who attend each one of those 125 locations a better shot at a successful future.
Now that you have the story, allow me to elaborate on how it is a part of my life, beginning from my first encounter with the program.
It was in late 2006 that I first heard of Job Corps. I had been back in Michigan for well over a year, having briefly tried my hand at serving in the United States Navy (which did not end well - trust me on that), and then bouncing around metro Detroit between a slew of temporary jobs. As noted before in my previous post, the job market in Michigan at that time was very, very poor, and was right in the middle of a very brutal transition to an economy predominantly overrun by low wage service industry jobs. It wasn't pretty, and I was getting pretty desperate.
It was on a late afternoon at the local Michigan works center in late fall of that year where I first heard of the Job Corps program. It caught my interest, but only briefly. I ran across one of their pamphlets, and looked up the program online while I was searching through the job database on their computers. The nearest admissions office was well over 70 miles away, right in the heart of downtown Detroit. At the time, I was staying in yet another shelter towards the center part of Port Huron, out of work yet again as my last temp assignment through the local Labor Ready office had recently ended. One of Job Corps' newer pilot programs for vocational training, security, caught my interest. I remembered what dad had done for the local security firm, and had previously expressed interest in employment, but had never gone anywhere. I spent a brief time debating if I should try to contact this admissions counselor, but seeing that I had no way to Detroit (this was a time before Port Huron offered bus service that connected to SMART down by 23 Mile Road), I had to write off the opportunity for the time being. For the remainder of my final winter spent living in Port Huron, I found myself working in a dead end seasonal job at Family Dollar, as I would go between four more places before ultimately leaving Port Huron behind for good, frustrated with the lack of opportunities I had available to me in the area, and the lack of affordable housing. I found myself stuck at yet another shelter outside of downtown Detroit in mid-April, and it would only be days later that I would have a chance encounter that changed everything for me.
Downtown Detroit, if you're not familiar with it, is a strange place. You have a clash of both the new and the old - in several places, old buildings being rehabilitated for future use, with a few newer structures dotting the landscape here and there. You couldn't go more than a block or two without running into a homeless person panhandling for extra money, and the trek between where the shelter was located at and where downtown Detroit stood was a test alone - you had two ways to get there. You could either go on foot through some extremely shady neighborhoods off of Martin Luther King, cross the pedestrian bridge near 14th, and then take the rest of the way to downtown on foot via Michigan Avenue, or you could simply walk all the way down Martin Luther King to either Cass Avenue or Woodward. In terms of safety, you risked being mugged or shot along either path, so it wasn't exactly a good choice either way. That was the reality of the neighborhood I was in, and to the west it was no better, either: everything stretching right out to Dearborn itself was gang territory, and even the wrong color of a shirt could get you into hot water, depending on which gang it was. A simple trek to the other nearby library, nearly a mile or so southwest of me, was equally dangerous - it was an area split by the Latin Kings and Surenos. Kind of nerve wracking, from what I remember.
Either way, here it was, late April, and yet again I was looking through the employment books for anything. I had a few interviews throughout the downtown area, but almost all of the jobs that were available were way out in the suburbs, and here I was, with no money to my name, right in the middle of the city, with not even a dollar to get on a bus. While on my way out of the Michigan Works First building, I noticed the same sign I had seen on that pamphlet months earlier - Job Corps. And the admissions office was right downstairs, in one of the subbasements there. I thought to myself that it couldn't hurt to stop by, so down in the elevator I went. Naturally, no one was in the office. I resolved to come back the next day.
Early morning comes, and I find myself waiting outside of that office in that subbasement. Around 8 AM, the recruiter comes in - a short, bespectacled man named Joe. After introducing myself, we go into his office where we begin to talk. I indicate to him that I already have a high school diploma, and I have had some working experience, but didn't have many options available to me. I told him that I felt frustrated by where I was at in my life, and that I was looking for a way to get some sort of training that would help me get forward in my life. He asked if I had considered college or the military. I explained that I had tried my luck with the military, but it did not end well for me, and that college for me at that time was out of the picture - at the time, I could not get anyone in my family to sign off on any FAFSA paperwork.
I could tell he had heard similar stories before. He told me of several kids he had helped get into the program who have since gone on to lead rather successful lives, and that he would do whatever was in his power to help me get forward. Over the next few weeks, our time was spent going through a few informational sessions on what to expect with being a Job Corps student, what kind of career options I could explore, what (if any) kind of academic training I could take advantage of, and what centers in the Michigan/Ohio/Illinois region I could attend. Throughout all of this, I still continued to search for other employment opportunities, but it didn't seem like it would happen. At one particular interview that still stands out to me even today, I went in, only to be told by the interviewer that I did not have the experience at all for what they were hiring for, and that I should just stick with daytime labor. I remember walking out of there, swearing to myself that I would prove that man wrong one day. As for the shelter, time began to be pressing. They had instituted a time limit in which you had to get out while searching for employment. I was growing agitated with the luck I was having, and in the end, my final selection for a Job Corps center would come in the form of a place in Grand Rapids, known as the Gerald R. Ford Job Corps Center. Within two days, the paperwork was finished, and by June 5th of 2007, I was on a bus bound for Grand Rapids, all of my remaining belongings packed into one small backpack and one medium sized blue duffel bag.
It felt exhilarating to be there at the end of that day. Here I was, no longer in a shelter, but faced with the chance to get some training for a good job, and faced with the opportunity to start making a life for myself. It took a little while to go through my initial on-center briefings, but by 7 PM that night, I was finally settling into my dorm room. I slept better that night then I had in months.
The next few days was a little tedious. Numerous briefings, presentations and speeches on what to expect with life at a Job Corps center, the issuing of our color coded badges (I started out on what they called "green card" status - anyone with a yellow, blue, white or green card could not go off campus unless escorted by a staff member or someone on Student Senate), and our daytime uniforms. Those uniforms I initially thought were the ugliest things I had ever seen - dark blue trousers, shirts, tennis shoes and your Job Corps ID worn on a lanyard displayed around your neck. As I found, it wouldn't be forever. Because I had a high school diploma, a virtual rarity among the student population there, I was put into a fast track program that had me skip directly to my service week and my shadowing week. Service week is exactly what it is - you spend an entire week either helping the custodial staff do cleanup around center, or you are helping out in the kitchen. I split my time between both, helping out with cleaning up trash left around the place and helping with cleaning kitchen utensils and equipment. My shadowing week was spent sitting for several days in on the security trade program in an outlying building, where it was initially taught by a man who was in the National Guard, and a second session that week in the office assistant program. Honestly, after sitting through a class where you are just typing out document after document, with nothing better to do, I found I didn't like the idea of a desk job, so security it was.
Right before I could begin my official training, summer break came without warning. It was already late June, and seeing as how I had nowhere else to go, I simply elected to stay on campus. I had made a few friends already, a group of kids from some more rural areas of Michigan. I had encountered some brief problems after being accused of racism - it was still a sore subject for me after my experiences in Port Huron, and it came about after someone stole a personal journal I had been keeping in my locker, where I had written in it that I felt as though I were surrounded by a bunch of wannabe gang members and animals. The place sometimes felt like that, given the several false fire alarms pulled by a few guys, the gang signs they would flash, and the way they would act like they were in prison or something. I had seen similar behavior from people living in the outskirts of Detroit and on the routes I took in the time leading up to my enrollment in Job Corps, so naturally that was my reaction. Either way, the summer break felt nice. Normally, curfew for us on campus was 9:30 at night, where we would head up to our dorm floor within the main building (this particular center was located in an old high school that President Gerald Ford had once attended years before - I thought that was cool along with the historical marker out front) for head count, a brief room inspection and then bed. Same went for the females in their dorms. Most weekends, you had to be back on center by no later than 11:30, with bed following up shortly. That summer break, though...I elected to help out with a few cleaning and painting projects being done on center, and for the few of us who stayed on center, we were allowed to stay out until as late as midnight, or even 1 on some instances, with most of the accessible areas for students open all night. We did a few trips that I remember, too: one to the Frederick Meijer Gardens on the outskirts of Grand Rapids, several to go see movies, one trip to the beach out by Holland, and on another a day trip to the Detroit Zoo.
The following Sunday, the 8th, is when everyone else came back, fresh from partying during their entire time away. I had rather come to enjoy the peace and quiet, and had even taken the time (since there were so few of us, even green card holders could leave campus with no questions asked) to start reading up on the materials I was going to have for the security trade program. In some ways, I guess I resented the others a little for coming back. I had even taken a liking to a nearby coffee shop, where I would go with a small group of people and spend hours at a time playing pool in the cool of the evening. Like all good things, it had to end, and come the 9th, it was back to a regular schedule. I found that due to the timing of the break and the timing when I had actually begun my service week, I would have several more days of helping around center before I could actually begin my vocational training. I was a little bit annoyed, but I went with it, and by late July, I was outpacing my fellow classmates in the security trade program, as the center searched for a new instructor to head up the program. They would find one, alright, in the form of one of the most unique men I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, and one of my first ever positive mentors in my life: Craig Marks.
Craig was like no other man I had ever met. A retired Marine of 8 years and several deployments, 7 children, a Buddhist, winner of numerous martial arts disciplines (he was a black belt in several fighting styles and an expert on different types of edged weapons), a holder of a Bachelor's Degree in Criminal Justice with his post-Marines career dealing exclusively with at-risk youth at a juvenile detention center in Ottawa County...he was very impressive, and would turn out to be one of the first people who helped me overcome a ferocious anger that had driven me for so long. He helped me redirect the pain of what I saw in my family towards something better. Admittedly, I was upset at first, as he reshaped the program to resemble something like a very lite version of basic training, and took several other students who had gone to a military academy elsewhere in Michigan, placing them in charge as student leaders. I admit that at first I resented that, but now, I can see why - I wasn't ready for the challenges of leadership. We started doing drill formations, incorporating actual investigative techniques into our curriculum, adopting a uniform that almost resembled a SWAT outfit (right down to the black ACU tops, tactical pants, white undershirts and even black combat boots). We would have PT sessions morning and day, often going on four mile runs, sometimes longer. I noticed my body began to react positively to all of this training, and I took pride in myself for the first time since I set out for Great Lakes. We would have actual police officers come in and do lectures, partner up with area businesses and organizations to do internships with in a security role, and expanded on our volunteer work, which ultimately culminated in working directly with the Toys For Tots Program and the Marines. There were even times when active duty soldiers in the area would be invited to help us refine our drilling techniques, and we would adopt berets and white gloves as part of our uniform. It felt good to be a part of something, and in a strange way, we within the program looked at our peers in the Job Corps program as dishonorable for their actions alone. The bonus is I even managed to obtain a driver's license, something that was never possible for all the years I had spent since high school. It was incredible, and I was proud. By the time late fall hit, I felt like a new man and I was ready to take on the world.
Even despite the gains made during my vocational training, there was some problems under the surface during my time at Job Corps. One of the biggest was the "no snitching" culture. For months, outside of the small group of people I hung out with, I had mostly kept my head down in my off hours. I would go up to one of the rec rooms in the old gymnasium to do some game time occasionally, jump in on the occasional rec trip off center (one such time consisted of a concert while another was going to Monday Night Raw at Van Andel Arena), or use a computer every once in a while to check on emails, but beyond those ventures, for the most part, having obtained red card status and ultimately gold card status, I was simply content with keeping my head down and reading numerous books obtained at the local library. Again, my main topics I preferred to read of by that point in my life was history and current events. Occasionally, I devoted my reading to fantasy - the Harry Potter books, sci-fi novels from authors such as Robert Heinlein and Kim Stanley Robinson. Many of the students I had earlier written of as being glorified thugs, naturally, didn't like anyone who was quiet and reserved, and had started rumors of students getting paid to snitch. Center staff would repeatedly say those were rumors, nothing more, and that no one even gets paid for it. I became a prime target, of course - I always had money, although it was only acquired by going around and collecting soda cans and bottles to be recycled in exchange for 10 cents per bottle or can. Given how often everyone simply threw these items away, I would accumulate several massive bags full of bottles and cans, take them to the nearby grocery store, and exchange them. Still, some took this as a sign that I was surely a paid snitch without any proof, and it led to extraordinary tensions between myself and several other students, one of which led to a fight one night that saw me placed on paid leave off campus (at the home of my mother for Thanksgiving), while the student who initiated the fight was expelled in the end. After a few months, these accusations died down, and I settled in, finally having convinced my mother to sign paperwork that would allow me to, for the first time, attend college. I was quickly brought into the ACT program (shorthand for Advanced College Training) and rotated to a room specifically set aside for students who worked towards an associate's degree while still living on center.
With that, even more freedoms came about as a result of my having entered college. Partially due to Craig Marks, and partially stemming from a ride-along conducted with an officer with a local police department that I had done during my time off, I selected criminal justice as my major. I was even more motivated to pursue that field, and a career in law enforcement, due in part to the recent news that Stuey was now in prison for life. My entire goal was to get people like him off of the streets, and serve as a positive example in the community by wearing the badge. I had managed to take Christmas break off to go home and visit first my mom (who I had been talking to again for well over a year and a half) and my grandmother, and came back early to center to rest before beginning my journey through college.
My first two semesters were great. I did try to take a math course during my first semester, but had difficulty in passing all of my tests and assignments - I had the help of a tutor, but even with that, I would go back to center at night and puzzle my way through my math homework. I could not comprehend any of what was before me, and often got a lot of questions wrong. Still, I managed to finish a class on American government, and even managed to complete Introduction to Criminal Justice. The fourth class I took was a basic English course, which I passed with flying colors. My knack for writing was further developed with the aid of the instructor, and I was happy with everything that had unfolded. I had even joined the Foreign Affairs Club on campus, and had participated in the Model Arab League that year, going out to Grand Valley State University where I learned more about the Middle East then I ever had. Through that alone, and exposure to a few Muslim students back at Job Corps, I found even more understanding and knowledge of their ways of life. Through my classes, I would begin to understand why many of the kids I saw back on center acted the way they did.
Spring break for me was brief. I managed to get enough money to spend Memorial Day weekend back in Detroit, and I came back refreshed and ready for my next batch of classes. Many of the guys in my small circle of friends back on center had left: one had been terminated for violating the rules, while others completed their training and returned to their hometowns. I picked up a few new friends, and of course we would hang out, going out for coffee (or the occasional beer - one of the perks of being legal drinking age in the ACT Program), or just walking along the riverwalk downtown. I had briefly had a relationship that year, but it didn't work out due to differences in my life and hers. I still continued with my studies, learning that summer of the intricacies of the juvenile justice system and even getting a chance to visit the Kent County Juvenile Detention Center, where even more epiphanies would unfold in relation to the students on center. Summer break that year consisted of a brief visit home to see my dad, followed by a return to center to continue on with my classes and a search for employment. I had already completed my vocational training the previous November, and was ready to eventually move out into the world. It didn't pan out that way.
By early October, I was formally released from Job Corps, having managed to blow positive on a Breathalyzer test administered by a center security guard just 24 hours after a period of heavy drinking the previous night while on pass. The previous time, earlier in the summer, had occurred after returning from eating out with some classmates. The center's drug and alcohol counselor personally wrote to the disciplinary committee that I clearly had an addiction problem, and as a result I was terminated. The only saving grace I had is that I had managed to pick up a part time job working as a custodian, but it didn't last long. After two homes later, a permanent layoff as the recession finally hit Grand Rapids, and dropping out of college due to my compounding financial situation, I was living under a highway bridge by the summer of 2009, having finally landed there in March of that year. It took me until November of that year to finally leave Michigan behind for good, as even despite the success I had in Job Corps, no one was hiring. Michigan appeared to be sinking, and by the time I left, I had been back in the Detroit area since July of 2009, having stayed with two people briefly before being unceremoniously kicked out onto the streets in early November with no place to go, and no real income to speak of. I spent my final night in Michigan sleeping in an empty field near what used to be a former insane asylum, and come daylight, I was nowhere to be found - I had managed to get help with getting a ticket out of Michigan on Greyhound. The final two months of 2009 and first three months of 2010 I spent in North Carolina, initially landing in a shelter after my first plan failed, followed in order by cleaning the windows of local businesses for money while I found myself shuttling between two different places, with the window washing gig no longer working out at the end. By late March, I was in Colorado.
From there, it was a brief stay at someone's place. I had taken the money left over from window washing and my tax return, and rented out a room on the eastern side of Colorado Springs. For months on end, I got nothing but static on my job search. I made the decision to enroll in college again, wanting to finish where I started, but because I was given no paperwork to take with me, I was sent packing at my original place, and would land in a nearby shelter for a month. I eventually ran across an old friend while out and about one day, and ended up staying at his place while I searched for both work and a home using whatever I would have leftover from financial aid (I had to double up on it - out of state tuition is very expensive). In the process, I managed to meet someone who is still in my life and still means the world to me while working on an assignment for one of my classes. In turn, I was introduced to several other friends of hers. We all bonded together like a family, and for several years I found myself involved with ghost hunting - almost all of which came to a crashing halt earlier this year, having seen our team lose countless members, good and bad, all while the main man at the helm ran around spouting things off one would expect to hear in a psychiatric ward, not in any other normal setting. I managed to make even more friends during my first fall here through working for a local haunted house, and although I am no longer there (thanks in part to disagreements with one of the main people there), I'm hoping to continue on with working in that field. And I've held a few good jobs - I managed to stay on for a few years with the computer labs at my college, while briefly doing an internship with the county sheriff's office, working for a call center (a center which left a very bitter taste in my mouth), being involved with a club that took me to places I had never been to before, and to a good extent rediscovered the simple joys in life. Something about life in the mountains does that to a man.
I sit here now, working to finish this piece up almost three hours after I started it. Although times seem tough to me right now, and I'm temporarily stuck doing a job I care less and less for (but ironically do enjoy the flexibility), I'm confident things will get better. They have in the past, and I have good people on my side for once to help me get through this. I'm glad for the experiences I had...I no longer simply look at someone who acts like a gangster as a simple thug. I think just listening to them in my free time away from my classes helped - I understand what led them to be who they are, do what they do now. I don't look on anyone for being gay, bi, trans or even lesbian to such a high degree as I did before - I guess sharing quarters with such people when I was at Job Corps helped me to open up my eyes to what kind of people they truly are: they're just like us, only they have different tastes in who they love. Race to me is simply a non-sequitur, although I do admit I can laugh at jokes that poke fun of people who are of a different race or sexual orientation. It helps to have a sense of humor, and a thick skin. I'm still unsure as to the question of whether a god exists or not: I look at the state of the world, with all of the hate, violence and greed and wonder how any just god could tolerate it, and wonder if since nothing is being done, is there even such a thing as a god? And if I seem to be a proponent for those who are poor, it's because I am. Having spent so much of the last 10 years walking among them as a fellow poor man, having seen what has caused their plight, having seen almost no action done to alleviate their suffering, having endured the same pain they have with living on the streets, I am confident enough to say that I share a kinship with those who are poor...more in common than I ever will have with a wealthy man or even a wealthy woman. Simply put, where before I entered Job Corps blinded by rage, pain and anguish, now? I'm not the same person I used to be. And I'm perfectly okay with that.
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