Tent City Built on Bay Area Landfill Readies to Retreat

Robert Barringer’s home is a jumble of tents and tarps on a craggy piece of land off the San Francisco Bay. His radio is on, and Monkey, his cat, is frolicking near the fire pit where he cooks.

But soon he’ll have to leave. The old industrial landfill that has become home to him and dozens of other homeless people is being turned into a park.

It could happen this summer, and Barringer doesn’t know where he will go.

Inside his tent, 47-year-old Barringer is gracious to visiting strangers. He offers a seat and talks wistfully about coming to California during the Summer of Love, getting a degree in art history from UC Berkeley, and working off and on restoring homes.

“I’ve always worked, I’ve always done something,” he said. But he has been homeless since getting kicked out of his apartment, and “things have just kind of fallen apart lately.”

The city wants to turn the wind-swept landfill into part of the Bay Trail and Eastshore State Park. Two portions of a trail are already complete.

Because of its bay view, the area has already attracted walkers and bird-watchers--and complaints about the debris, raw sewage, stray dogs and homeless campers.

Then there’s a population explosion. Construction on a nearby freeway brought the people who had lived beneath an overpass. Another project on railroad land brought more residents. Officials put the present population at 150.

Police say that they have been called to the landfill 35 times in the last 10 months, for everything from simple disputes to attempted murder.

City officials say the public safety issues are particularly worrisome because it’s hard for police vehicles and firetrucks to get to the landfill.

The Albany City Council is considering everything from restricting access, camping and fires to leaving the landfill open to all and providing health and safety facilities.

The city owns the outer reaches known as the Bulb, while the flat area inland belongs to the state and the East Bay Regional Park District.

“When they feel comfortable about the land and the people who are using it, then they’ll decide how to proceed with it,” Assistant City Administrator Ann Ritzma said.

Alex McElree runs Operation Dignity, an outreach program to help the homeless, and patrols the landfill in a secondhand ambulance equipped with blankets, raincoats and food.

“There’s no question about whether these people will have to leave,” he said. “The question is when.”

McElree walks the well-worn paths on the landfill, closed in 1984. Vegetation has taken back the land, but chunks of concrete and pieces of rusted metal still peek out from weeds and bushes.

“See those condos over there? That’s the American dream,” he said, pointing to luxury apartments looming over the encampment. “Over here? This is the American reality.”

Not far down the path on the Bulb, McElree happens upon a campsite.

“Is anyone home?” he calls out.

The camp has been abandoned, probably rained out, McElree said. An old coat hangs from a tree. Books, old shoes, empty beer cans and wine bottles are scattered about.

“Watch out for needles,” McElree says, gingerly stepping through the debris.

McElree, a former Marine who himself was homeless for about six years, says he is trying to make the transition easier, talking to the campers about what they will do when moving day finally comes. He wants the city to contribute portable toilets and Dumpsters to help with the transition.

“There are people out here who aren’t going to want to leave until the police come out and make them leave,” he said.

Sarah Teague is homeless and looks much older than 32. Her face is lined and dirty, her smile is missing several teeth. Her hands are rough. But her childlike greenish-yellow eyes are glowing like a cat’s in the waning sun of a recent afternoon.

Teague keeps a motherly watch over 56-year-old Thomas John Wallace, who hasn’t left his tent since the chain broke on his adult-sized tricycle. Bicycles are popular on the landfill, because it’s a long hike to any services.

Wallace’s legs are hurt, but his exact illness or injury is unknown. His makeshift tent is filled with trash and flies and an awful stench.

He doesn’t speak clearly. McElree thinks he suffers from what he calls “Isolationist Syndrome”; 25 years of living alone have made him unable to communicate properly.

Wallace peers out of his tent and asks his visitors if they will buy him a new tricycle.

“He needs his tricycle,” Teague said. “It’s the only thing that keeps him going. It’s like physical therapy.”

Teague’s care of Wallace exemplifies the sense of community. When a man threatened Teague, another moved his campsite close by to protect her.

“This is my family,” she said.

Jean-Paul Sabots is known as “The Mayor” out on the landfill, but he doesn’t like the bureaucratic implications of the nickname. He rides his bike along the paths, letting residents know Operation Dignity has arrived with food and supplies.

“The people who are out here are independent individuals,” he said. “Some of them have been pushed way too much. Which is why I’m out here.”

They also tend to be reluctant to talk about when and why they became homeless. Pressed for answers, the diminutive 51-year-old Sabots says he lost his home after his wife left him and got custody of his child. He moved to the landfill more than five years ago.

Sabots doesn’t want to leave. He wants a compromise, perhaps involving the squatters in cleaning up the area for park visitors.

He maintains that only 50 homeless people live there, not the 150 counted by the city.

“This piece of land should be for the people,” he said. “Us.”