I Worked the Largest Low-Income Community in St. Petersburg
It was Fun
Graham/ Rogall is still with me. Every once in a while, I will have a flashback.
I sat at the guard desk at the largest public housing complex in St. Petersburg, Florida. I hated working the desk. I did my best to keep up with my report as I monitored the chaos around me.
“ I can’t wait to go on patrol,” I thought as the smoke alarm went off. I noted the apartment number and called the resident.
“ Open your windows. Do not open your door.” I was lucky that time. The resident did what I told him to do.
There was a non-stop stream of visitors. They all had to be carded. No one was allowed to come in unless they had a State or Federal picture I.D. They also had to be checked against an extensive list of trespassed individuals.
I hated working at the desk. I nodded and smiled when my partner finished and it was my turn to go on patrol.
I made sure I had my pen and notebook, then off I went. There was a chain grocery store across the street. The residents would fill their carts. They would bring the groceries home and leave the empty carts in the hallway.
For some reason, it pissed off the Fire Marshall. One of my guard duties was to get the carts downstairs.
I sent the carts down the elevator. They would work their way to the lobby, sent down by me or a resident. We would send them down to the lower floor. As I walked down the fire escape, I wondered why it was necessary for residents to piss there instead of in their apartment.
I would follow trails of blood, wondering if anyone had died. There was a lobby on each floor. I came up short one evening when I saw a man wearing nothing but his dirty underpants.
He was on all fours howling like a wolf. I took out my radio and told my partner where I was and asked him to call 911.
I waited while the paramedics came and took the guy to the hospital. When the paramedics left with their patient, I resumed my patrol.
I catch a whiff of an unusual odor. It’s not crack. Crack smells like burning tar. I was smelling something sickly sweet.
The air currents dissipated the smell. I kept walking. I found out a few days later what the smell was.
The residents had to report to security every morning. We had to know if they were alive. Every afternoon a guard would take the list of the no-shows, get the keys and check every apartment of those who didn’t report.
When the resident was alive, he was white and he must have weighed four or five hundred pounds. When we found him he was as black as charcoal.
The captain asked me to stand by the open apartment door while the cops processed the scene. I now knew what the sickly sweet smell was.
It’s something I will never forget.
I stood in the hallway for several minutes when one of the officers asked if I wanted a closer look. At first, I declined. But curiosity got the best of me.
“ What’s with the goo?” I asked. I looked at the stuff all over the floor and all over my shoes.
“ As the flesh breaks down, the fluids have to go somewhere.” The officer answered. My shoes were soaked in bodily fluids. I talked to the cops a few minutes more, then I went back to the doorway.
How did the guy lie in his room dead long enough to decompose? We did tab checks, that’s when security gets the keys and looks for the residents who didn’t check-in.
Security blew the tab check.
I hated working at the desk. I was alone while the other guard was on patrol. The residents and their visitors scared me.
“ I can’t let you in unless you have a picture I.D and I have to call up and announce you,” I said to the angry man in front of me. He called me every foul name he could think of with his limited vocabulary.
He gave up and left the building. I was lucky, they usually didn’t go that easily.
The smoke alarms would go off continuously. I would call the resident if they hadn’t called me first. If we couldn’t get an answer, we would have to get the key and check the room.
One evening an alarm went off. I got the key and checked the room. The guy had put a couple of steaks in the oven to broil. He then forgot they were in the oven and went out to party.
I unlocked the apartment and turned off the oven.
None of the residents could cook worth a damn. Every night around dinner time, the smoke detectors ran none stop.
The first of the month was the hardest time to work there. Most of the residents were being treated by the Psychiatric Hospital. Every day an orderly would arrive to dispense anti-psychotic drugs.
Everyone got their Welfare money on the first. The prescription drugs interfered with the heroin and crack and booze. So they would go off their meds.
We called the cops often.
I almost didn’t make it through my first week, but a funny thing happened. I decided to stick it out. I wanted to challenge myself.
I worked my way up to Sargent, then Lieutenant. A young man I trained was promoted to captain. I threatened to quit if they tried to promote me.
A few months later, the new captain had a nervous breakdown and was committed. My supervisor was concerned about me. I was close to breaking.
I was assigned somewhere else.
Twenty years later, I still dream about that place. It’s gone now. It’s torn down and replaced by condos or apartments.
I learned a lot about myself. I can be tough but at a steep price. I like the mellow me better.
The job started out to be terrifying, but soon it was like a drug. I couldn’t wait to go to work. The excitement was intoxicating. I would go home and be wound up for hours.
But then it quit being fun. I was afraid to go on my rounds. I hated dealing with people at the desk.
I was afraid all the time. I didn’t look back when I was re-assigned.
I think about the residents, Graham/Rogall is gone. The residents have been placed somewhere else. I’m glad it’s gone, but I wonder about the residents I met. I hope they are well.
Graham/ Rogall was fun until it wasn’t.
https://www.cltampa.com/news-views/news-features/article/20722636/st-pete-to-elderly-get-out
