The Squat Home Page



Updated December 2/2005


Welcome to the squat. My name is Ben. I live here with my three friends; Josh, Jessie, and Wolf. This is the story of how we met and how we survive at street level. I know it's not pretty, but then life on the street never is. This is the first full-length book that Bonnie and her husband, Kerre, have ever written.

Thank you for your interest. BTW, if you want to talk to Bonnie, just e-mail her.

If you want to visit her, just go here.






Update; January 2004

Bonnie still needs a publisher


Well, here we are on the corner again. Why is it always so cold here? Anyway, Ben here. I know you've been itching for an update about Bonnie's publisher. Sorry, I've been busy. Bonnie and Kerre couldn't get their book published after all. All three publishers who were interested in publishing The Squat wanted hundreds of dollars to do it. They are on a very fixed income and couldn't afford it. So, they are again on the hunt for a publisher. is there anyone out there who would be interested and who wouldn't charge the sun and the moon to do it? Come on guys, Bonnie and Kerre put a lot of work into this book, they deserve a break. If you are interested, just e-mail them at The Squat I gotta go, I'm getting frostbite. See you later.



Hi guys, I just spoke to Bonnie, and she told me about a review that was written about The Squat. I asked her if I could post it and she agreed to let me do that. Here it is.

Book Review of The Squat by Ron Tobin of the Philosopher's Guild in Arizona


"THE SQUAT by Bonnie and Kerre Briggs is a semi-autobiographical work of fiction which tells the story of four homeless people who come together and live in an abandoned building (a squat) in downtown Toronto. Though a work of fiction, it is entirely truthful about the situation that the homeless face in Canada's greatest city. It is a cruel world, where shelter is hard to come by, the poor even prey on each other, the police tend to be sadistic, and the politicians are all buffoons. Given the rather extensive conversations I have had with homeless people in Toronto, I find that this book pulls no punches.

The book was many months in the making, and was in fact one of the last projects that Cliff Kennedy had a direct hand in. For their first book, I commend Bonnie and Kerre. The character development quite good, and the foundation of the story was sound. The merits, the fact that it makes you think, far outweighs the small blemishes in the book.

So far, this book has only had one printing and I understand that there are presently no copies left. They are shopping around, trying to find a major publisher to take on the book, last I heard to little success. If anyone reading this knows of a publisher, I would urge you to give the contact information to Bonnie and Kerre Briggs so that the book can see a wider audience, because quite frankly it deserves one.

Bonnie and Kerre Briggs can be contacted by writing to 28 Springhurst Ave. #3, Toronto, Ontario, M6K 1B2, Canada. Or, one can e-mail Bonnie at Bonnie Briggs

In the eyes of this reviewer, THE SQUAT is definitely HIGHLY RECOMMENDED."



Update; December 1/2003

Bad News!


Hi, Ben again with an update regarding Bonnie's publisher. I just met with Bonnie and she told me that they can't go ahead with the publisher because they are charging way too much money to publish their book, The Squat. Apparently, Dorrance Publishing wanted hundreds of dollars to publish their book. Keep in mind, that's in American funds and it's only for one book. Imagine what it would cost for three books. So Kerre and Bonnie turned them down. So now, they are hunting for another publisher, preferably Canadian. Are there any Canadian publishers interested out there? If you are interested in publishing The Squat and are willing to do it without charging an arm and a leg, preferably for free, just e-mail The Squat. I have to go, Wolf's waiting for me back at the squat. I'll call you if there's any more updates. Bye.



The Squat



Chapter 1


It was 2:00 in the morning when the police banged on the door of 355 Factory Drive in Toronto's West End on a mid-summer night. Peacefully sleeping inside the squat were four street people; Josh, Wolf, Jessie, and Ben. Josh, 35, was white with tattoos on both arms, John Lennon glasses, two small hoop-style earrings in both ears, nose ring, and black hair in a punk haircut that made him look younger than his years. He was wearing a T-shirt, which had long ago ceased being white and was now a drab, permanent shade of grey and a pair of dirty blue jeans with the knees torn out. Last but not least, Josh was wearing a pair of well-worn dull grey sneakers with holes in the heels. Wolf, an ex-Special Forces officer, was 50 with salt-and-pepper hair and beard that gave him the appearance of a wolf, hence his street name. He had a tattoo of a wolf on his chest and a ring on every finger. He wore a tired-looking, rumpled pinstripe suit with a stained T-shirt and torn black pants as well as beat-up running shoes with the toes out. Jessie, 24, was the only girl in the group. She was black with black curly hair and dangling multi-strand pearl earrings. She wore a close-fitting hot pink halter-top and skin-tight stonewashed blue jeans with white platform running shoes. Ben, a heavy-set 55 year old, was the newcomer to the streets as well as the senior member of the group. His unruly brown hair had receded over the years until it was in line with the tops of his ears. A few small wispy strands of partially grey hair from ears to temple caused people to describe him as an absent-minded professor. He had nicotine stains on his fingers, rimless wire glasses, and dirty, scuffed, brown dress shoes that were falling apart. He was also wearing blue work pants and a denim shirt with missing buttons and a torn black vest. The reason the cops were breaking in was... well, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Chapter 2


This story starts five years ago when Wolf was laid off from his job at the Vandoer & Schonberg Advertising Agency in Toronto. He was born in Boston, Massachusetts, where he had joined the army at the age of eighteen. He was trained at a facility at Providence, Rhode Island, where an officer encouraged him to join the Special Forces. He spent four years in Vietnam. When his unit was involved with the Tet Offensive, he was forced to watch his twin brother, who had enlisted with him, be tortured and killed by the Viet Cong. After managing to escape, he re-enlisted and spent the next two years in efforts to extract vengeance from the people responsible for his brother's death. He returned to the States to obtain his degree in advertising media. Three months after graduation, he received a call from the Vandoer & Schonberg offices in Montreal, Canada. He moved to Montreal, where he worked for four years at the agency's office before being elevated to an assistant managerial position and transferring to Toronto. He worked there for fifteen years before the Advertising Agency was hit with downsizing due to the recent recession. Wolf was laid off despite his seniority and excellent work record. Because of his age, Wolf was not able to get another job. His wife was still working, but one income alone was not enough to cover the payments on the house and two cars. Months went by; soon, a car payment missed here, a mortgage payment missed there, made it evident that their years in that house were numbered. Wolf applied for welfare, but was refused because he had too many assets. The worker at the welfare office told him to, "Sell off everything you own, including the house, the car, and your cottage up north, then come back and talk to us". Wolf was devastated; what was he going to do?

The very real possibility of homelessness loomed on the horizon. One day, Wolf got a phone call from the bank; they were foreclosing on his home and his cottage. The car dealership had long ago repossessed his car. Wolf was homeless. Then, to make things even worse, his wife died after a long battle with lung cancer. Because Wolf was homeless, he was unable to look after his two children, Luke, 4 and Marissa, 8. His wife's family took the kids to live with them in Maine.

So here he was, no home, no family and no money. He went back to welfare, asking, "Can I get Welfare now?" The welfare clerk told him, no, because he didn't have an address. Wolf, very dejectedly, replied to the worker, saying, "But I did what you asked; I have nothing now. What more do you want from me?"

"I'm sorry," said the worker, "there's nothing we can do".

"How am I going to eat? Where am I going to sleep?" asked Wolf, realizing that he was faced with being on the street. The worker gave Wolf a list of shelters and soup kitchens and sent him on his way. The first night, the first month was really rough, but he soon learned how to live on the street and how to fend for himself. He soon became known on the street as Wolf; no one ever knew or learned what his real name was. The younger street people came to look up to him as sort of a father figure, an attitude and belief, which he encouraged. This is where Josh and Jessie come in.


old pump

*******

Josh was originally from the West End of Vancouver, British Columbia. He had been a minor-league hockey player before a career-ending injury took him off the ice. While he was recovering from the injury, he decided to open a Tattoo Parlour. He ran that business successfully for twelve years. Then, one day, his landlord came and told him that the rent for his Parlour was about to double. Though his tattoo business was successful, he still couldn't afford to pay the higher rent and he ended up having to sell the business. "What am I going to do now?" thought Josh. "I can't afford to stay here any more."

He decided to come to Toronto because he had heard that it was a thriving city with lots of business opportunities. So, he gave notice at his apartment and prepared for the big move. Finally, the day arrived. He had already packed two small bags; he picked them up and made his way to the bus depot. After purchasing a one-way ticket, he got on the bus and waited for it to leave.

The journey took three days to reach Toronto; the nights were spent on the bus. He arrived at the bus station in Toronto in the early afternoon of the third day. He had no idea what his next move would be, so he bought a paper and looked in the Classifieds for an apartment or an office space for his Tattoo Parlour.

"These rents are worse than the ones in Vancouver!" he exclaimed. "I can't afford these." Josh looked at a few apartments, but they were either bug- and mouse-infested or far over his budget. He managed to find a small motel room for the night where, because of his experiences that day, he slept fitfully.

The next day, Josh went to welfare, where he explained that he was from out-of-town. He tried to get some financial help so he could rent an apartment. They told him that he could get an emergency cheque, but that would be all he could get. "How am I supposed to get an apartment with one cheque?" asked Josh, "the landlords here want first and last month's rent".

"Go and get an apartment with this cheque; then come and let us know, then we'll talk."

Josh went out excitedly and tried to find a place that he could afford with the $520.00 cheque that he would be getting from welfare every month. He soon realized that there was nothing in the city that he could afford. He finally resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't going to get an apartment in this city. He was dejected and downhearted that evening; he looked up a hostel in an attempt to get a bed for the night. He arrived there just after 11 pm., only to find out that the hostel was filled to overflowing. He went to all the hostels in the city with the same results: each one was overflowing with the dregs of humanity.

"I don't believe this!" cried Josh, despairingly, "Why did I ever leave Vancouver?"

"Because you, like many others before you, bought all the media-generated hype about Toronto being a world-class city", came from a man with a deep, booming voice standing directly behind Josh. Josh jumped at the sound of the voice and turned to get a better look. A tall but muscular man stood there, only partially visible in the glare of the streetlight.

"Who are you?" asked Josh, temporarily unnerved by the man's sudden appearance.

"Everybody calls me Wolf," he said, "are you new in town?"

"Yes", said Josh, as he began to overcome his shock at being answered when .he had been talking to himself. "I just got into town yesterday from Vancouver. I wanted to restart my tattoo business here, but I can't afford the rents and welfare won't help me."

"Welcome to Toronto, my friend." said Wolf, as he draped his arm across Josh's shoulders. "You come with Wolf, I'll fix you up."

"Thank you very much, Wolf. You're very kind." said Josh, gratefully. "I hope I can get my parlour going soon."

Wolf just smiled inwardly and didn't say anything. He knew that it could be a long time before Josh would be back in business, if ever.

danger

*******

Jessie was from Buffalo, New York, just about an hour-and-a-half's drive from Toronto. She came to Toronto looking for a fresh new start. Her Father had died and her Mother had remarried. Because of Jessie's dislike and distrust of her stepfather resulting from his sexually abusing her, she had left home in an attempt to escape further recurrences. She wanted to be a model and felt that her best chance of finding a modeling job would be in Toronto. She borrowed some money from a friend and drove to Toronto in her three-year-old sports car, which her father had given to her for her sixteenth birthday two months before his death. She arrived in Toronto in the middle of a warm, sunny May afternoon. As she filled her car with gas, she thought about her next move. She realized she was hungry and went to a nearby restaurant for something to eat. "Where can I get a place to stay around here?" she asked the waitress when her meal arrived.

"Oh, you don't live around here?" responded the waitress, with a fleeting smile, which turned into a noticeable sneer as she took in Jessie's appearance. Millie, the waitress, muttered, "Rich little black bitch", before returning to the main counter to take an order from a new customer.

As the waitress left the table, Jessie spoke once again. "No," said Jessie, "I just got here from Buffalo. I've never been here before." Jessie began to blush when she realized what the waitress had said. For a few minutes, she picked at her food before deciding to disregard the comment.

Twenty minutes later, Jessie signaled for her bill. When Millie arrived at the table, Jessie asked again about finding somewhere to stay in the city. "Where do I go to get some help?"

"Well, Welfare is closed now, you'll have to go to an office in the morning", Millie responded, eyeing Jessie suspiciously. "There's a hostel on the other side of town, why don't you go talk to them? Maybe they'll take you." The waitress was carefully counting out the money that Jessie had given her, watching Jessie out of the corner of her eye. Millie counted the money a second time, even though she knew that Jessie had given her the correct amount to cover the bill. Millie handed Jessie her change and began clearing the table. "You'd better hurry, the hostel's going to be closing soon", Millie said, knowing for sure that the hostel wouldn't be open for another hour.

"Thank you very much, you've been quite helpful", smiled Jessie, as she picked up her coat and left the restaurant.

"Humph", snorted Millie as she disappeared into the kitchen. "Why doesn't she go home? I'm sure her own kind can look after her," she muttered to herself. "You just can't trust those people."

Jessie didn't hear the waitress' comments as she headed for her car and what she thought would be a comfortable night's rest. She drove over to the hostel only to find a long line-up already waiting for the doors to open. Thinking that the hostel had closed, she ran up to one of the women in line and asked, "Is the hostel closed? Am I too late to get in?"

"Closed?" laughed the bent-over fiftyish woman, "no, my dear, it doesn't open for another half-hour."

"Half-hour!" cried Jessie, "the waitress told me that the hostel would be closed by the time I got here."

"Well, that waitress was just screwing you around," said the woman. "This place opens every night at 7:00 PM. But you won't get in at this time of night. The beds will be all gone now. We've all got tickets for our beds."

"Where can I get a ticket for a bed?" Jessie cried. An expression of fear crossed her lovely features at the thought that she might have to sleep on the street.

"You can talk to the staff person if you want, but I can tell you that you'll wasting your time," the woman responded, pointing to a tall, slim woman in her mid-20's who was talking and joking with the other women in the line.

"Thank you," said Jessie, as she rushed to talk with the staff person. "Excuse me, could I please get a ticket for a bed?" cried Jessie, desperate to the point of interrupting the group's conversation in order to be heard.

The staff person stopped talking to the women around her, and then paused to look Jessie up and down. "Have you stayed here before?" she asked Jessie.

"No, I haven't. I just got into town today from Buffalo."

"Then, I'm sorry, but the beds have all been allotted. Come back to see me in the morning and I'll do an intake with you."

"But where am I supposed to sleep?"

The staff person just ignored Jessie and began ushering the women into the hostel.

Jessie moaned and went back to her car. She drove to several other hostels and found that they were either full or closed for the night. She finally pulled into a parking lot, turned off the car's lights and pulled her coat over her body as stretched out on the full-width front seat to sleep. Her nervousness caused her heart to skip a beat every time that a noise occurred. Finally, at about three in the morning, she fell asleep due to her extreme exhaustion.

The next morning, a loud rapping on her car window rudely awakened her. She looked up groggily, wiping sleep from her eyes and saw a policeman standing outside her car. She immediately rolled down her window.

"You can't stay here," said the cop, menacingly, "move along!"

"I'm sorry, officer, I just got into town last night and couldn't find a place to sleep," Jessie pleaded.

"You got any drugs in this car? Is this your car?" asked the cop as he looked around with evident suspicion.

"No, I don't have any drugs. I don't do drugs." Jessie was awake now and beginning to resent this cop's attitude. "Yes, this is my car," she declaimed as she reached for the ownership papers which she had deposited in the glove compartment before her trip had begun the previous day.

As she reached across the dashboard, the cop drew his gun. "Hold it!" he barked, "put your hands where I can see them!"

Jessie, intensely bewildered and suddenly afraid, found herself staring into the barrel of a Glock 9mm revolver. She slowly raised her hands as the officer walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out her ownership papers and driver's license. He examined the papers with extreme care; Jessie slowly lowered her hands and began twisting them as if they were wet dishrags. She had no idea what her fate would be and began to wonder why she ever left home in the first place. The cop realized that there was nothing wrong with Jessie's papers and returned them to her.

As Jessie returned the papers to the glove compartment, the cop glared at her, then growled menacingly, "All right, move along. Don't let me catch you sleeping here again or I'll run you in. Move it now or?#034; His growl became even more menacing as he began to walk away, leaving Jessie behind the wheel with her hands shaking noticeably.

"No, I won't sleep here again. Thank you officer." Jessie's response went unheard by the officer's retreating form. As she drove away, she glanced into the rear-view mirror several times in an attempt to reassure herself that he was not following her.

Visibly shaken up by the ordeal, Jessie searched for a place to eat. She drove slowly along Queen Street until she reached Ossington Avenue, where she noticed a small family restaurant. She parked her car, dropped a loonie into the parking meter and entered the restaurant.

After she had eaten her breakfast and had several sobering cups of coffee to help her settle down, Jessie began to search for a place to live and a modeling agency that would provide her with steady employment; she found only full apartments and constant discrimination and prejudice. She even tried the hostels to no avail. After a few days of sleeping in motels and refilling her car, her money ran out. She sold her car and used the money to rent a tiny, dingy one-room apartment in a second-floor walk-up in the East End. Because she couldn't find any work, she couldn't pay the rent and was soon evicted. Now what would she do? She tried to get into the hostels, but she found that they were also full, some to the point of overflowing.

Finally, completely exhausted, she collapsed onto a park bench and fell asleep. A gentle shaking of her shoulders awakened Jessie. She jumped up, shaking with fear, her heart beating furiously, thinking that the cop who had terrified her on her first morning in the city had returned to arrest her. But it wasn't the cop; it was a young man with a punk haircut.

The young man spoke to her; care was evident in every feature."Hey, don't be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you. What are you doing here? I haven't seen you around here before." The stress of the last few days came crashing in on her, and the whole story came tumbling out.

"Oh man, no wonder you're exhausted," he said when she was finished. "Why don't you come and stay with us? We've got a really nice squat not far from here." When he noticed that she was still suspicious and afraid, he said, "By the way, my name is Josh. Hey, don't worry, we're cool. Our intentions are purely honourable. We just want to give you a place to stay."

"Who's we?" Jessie asked, still not totally convinced.

"Wolf and I, Jessie," said Josh. "Wolf saved me when I was lost and alone. He's sort of like a street father to some of us. Come on, check us out. If you don't like the squat, we'll help you get home."

"No, I don't want to go home, I'll come with you." Jessie, stumbling due to her extreme fatigue, followed Josh to the squat and met Wolf who, after hearing her story, agreed to help her. Jessie still retained the hope of one day fulfilling her modeling dream.

warehouse

This picture courtesy of Ufreight.

*******

Ben was from the Beaches area of Toronto. He had lived in Toronto all his life. He had worked in a trust company for twenty-five years.

That all changed one day when junkies trying to get some money for their next fix robbed the trust company. Ben's best friend, Rob, who had been working in the front section of the office, was shot and killed by one of the robbers. Ben had known Rob for more than ten years and his sudden death traumatized Ben severely enough that he grieved for Rob for many months after the robbery. Ben was eventually diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Ben's supervisor, John, spoke to him several times about his inability to work due to his friend's death. After Ben had informed John of the psychiatric diagnosis, John tried once more to help Ben with the same results. Even though Ben had been one of his best workers, the Board of Directors forced John to pink-slip Ben.

At first, Ben welcomed the break from the routine. He was not too worried about finances as he still had quite a substantial account in the trust company. However, as time went on, bills began to pile up on his desk without being paid. He became extremely depressed and turned to alcohol for solace. One day, after missing several mortgage payments, the bank foreclosed on his home and he found himself on the street.

So, with no home, a few dollars in his pocket, and disowned by his friends and co-workers, Ben took public transit to the downtown core to find a hostel bed and somehow get his life started again. He went first to the largest men's hostel in the city and knocked on the door. "Can I please get a bed for a few days?" Ben asked hopefully when the staff person opened the door.

"Sorry man, we're full up." As the staff person tried to close the door in Ben's face, Ben stuck his foot in between the door and the lintel. He asked for transit tickets and waited for the staff person to return. Twenty minutes later, Ben was given several tickets and directions to other men's hostels in the city. As he turned to walk away, the staff member slammed the door behind him.

He rode the bus all over town in a futile search for a bed; all the hostels were full. Finally, discouraged and tired, he gave up and trudged into a small, dismal all-night coffee shop where he spent his last two dollars on a coffee and a donut.

Wolf was sitting in the coffee shop when Ben walked in. At first, he didn't pay too much attention to Ben. When he heard Ben telling the counter help that he was homeless, Wolf marched over to Ben's table. "Are you looking for a place to stay?" Wolf asked as he sat down across from Ben.

"Yes, I am," Ben sobbed. "The trust company where I worked laid me off almost two years ago. I was there for twenty-five years and they just let me go. The bank foreclosed on my house; I spent the last eight hours trying to find a bed in one of the hostels. Now I'm here and I don't know where I'm going to sleep." Still sobbing, Ben put his head in his hands. He was a broken man; the hopelessness of the situation had finally hit him like a hammer hitting a nail.

"What's your name?" asked Wolf, taking a big swig of his coffee.

"Ben," responded Ben, slowly lifting up his head and stifling his tears. He was overjoyed to finally find a friendly face. Wolf handed Ben a napkin and watched as Ben dried his eyes.

"Well Ben," said Wolf, as he stood up to leave the coffee shop. "You come with me, I've got a place where you can stay. It ain't the Ritz, but it's comfortable. I have a squat not far from here. Come on, I'll take you there." Wolf walked over to the counter to pay the bill. "Oh, by the way, my name's Wolf," he said as they walked out the door.

"Thank you very much, Wolf," replied Ben, gratefully. "I really appreciate this. I just hope I can get another job at a bank or a trust company soon."

"Well, let's not be too hasty." Wolf cautioned Ben. "We've got to get you settled first."

Ben walked to the squat with Wolf, where he met Josh and Jessie. He discovered that Wolf had helped them too. Ben's hopes were raised by the thought that he had started on the road to finding his life again.

trucks

This picture courtesy of Ufreight.


Hello, it's Ben again. Now, you've read our introductions and you know a little bit about us. Want to see what happens next? Well, you'll have to wait until Bonnie and Kerre get a publisher and then buy your own copy. I'll see you later, I have to get back to the squat.



Bonnie just told me that her good friend, Punkie helped her with this page. Punkie wrote a poem for Bonnie. You can read it HERE



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