"I haven't lived in a place I could call my own for four years," John Balderson says matter-of-factly, without a hint of self-pity or embarrassment.
In fact, the lanky 43-year-old says he considers himself lucky.
"I haven't had to sleep under a bridge. I haven't turned to substance abuse. I don't dress like I'm homeless. I'm clean and I don't carry around a lot of stuff. I take pride in myself. I really am fortunate."
Of late,however,Balderson's bright outlook has started to dim.
After spending nearly 60 days living at the county's Homeless Assistance Center, he doesn't feel much closer to his goal of finding a real job and a real home than he was in late January when he was tapped to become one of the first residents of the new $9.5 million center.
"They haven't really helped anyone - people have been forced to do things on their own," he says. "What good does it do to put them in a program for 60 or 90 days and then not teach them anything?
"To me it's a $9.5 million Tent City," he says referring to Fort Lauderdale's infamous downtown encampment where he lived for two years before stepping on a bus that took him 10 blocks north to his brand spanking new, air-conditioned digs.
Officials at the Homeless Assistance Center, which was built with private and public funds and is run by a nonprofit corporation, admit that they are still putting programs in place that will help, as they love to say, "break the cycle of homelessness."
And while they initially pledged to turn homeless people around within 60 days, they say they are having to revise that promise. "It's going to be based on the average especially because of our start up," says Ezra Krieg, the center's resource development director. ÒWe started up before we were ready to for a variety of reasons that were beyond our control."
But, Krieg insists, much is being done for the residents. Yes, about 100 have left because they were either unable or unwilling to live by the center's no-drinking, no-violence, no-sex rules. But another 30 have been "outplaced", a bureaucratic term that means they now live somewhere else. Somewhere else includes halfway houses, mental health facilities or, in some case, private apartments.
Further, he says, each of the roughly 120 men and 15 women who live at the center meet regularly with one of the center's seven case managers. Alcoholic Anonymous and Narcotic Anonymous meetings are held at the center as are classes to help those interested in earning high school diplomas.
But, Balderson says, he expected more help would be available to help him and others land jobs. At the very least, he said, he thought he would be able to get his hands on a Sun-Sentinel or a Miami Herald so, like other job-hunters, he could search the classifieds to see what positions are available. He also says he thought the center would link him and others up with employment agencies that could point them in the right direction or help them get the skills they need to find work.
The majority of his fellow residents, he says, leave the center early to sell newspapers on street corners or work for labor pools - dead-end jobs, according to many human service types. By contrast, Balderson spends his days riding public buses to and from job interviews, going to job fairs hoping to get leads on possible jobs, haunting the public library or hanging out.
It can be disheartening, he says. After all, unlike other homeless people he has what would appear to be a very marketable skill. Before he fell on hard times four years ago, he says he spent nearly 20 years traveling around the country programming mainframe computers. Since losing his job, he has taught himself to program personal computers that now rule the high-tech world.
When he lived at the tent, he used computers at the Broward County Main Library to build a Tent City Web page. Once the center opened, he converted it into a HAC Web page. He has his own personal Web page as well.
He readily admits his resume scares away some potential employers. He says he has held many jobs because he had a tendency to job-hop, believing the next job would be better than the one he already had. Since moving to Fort Lauderdale in 1997, he has had three jobs Ñ all in the computer industry. Unfortunately, due to personality conflicts, none lasted longer than three or four months. That, he knows, looks bad.
Still, he says, he wants to support himself and live on his own. He thought the HAC would help him accomplish that goal. Here's what he's done in the last 60 days in his own words. Here's Balderson's diary.