Playwright inspired by local homeless encampment

For many people, when they drive past a homeless encampment or encounter a hungry person asking for spare cash, they quickly choose from a very short list of actions: looking the other way, offering help, writing letters to public officials or making a mental note to “do something” in the future.

When Petaluma writer Nathaniel Roberts met an unhoused woman at Steamer Landing Park earlier this year, he took another approach.

He went home and wrote a play.

“It took me about a month, writing all the time,” Roberts said. His “short-term obsession” fueled his playwriting passion as he brought his drama “Home” to life.

“Home” is set in a homeless camp in a large city. It’s not Steamer Landing specifically, but Petaluma’s complex relationship with homelessness is very much at the heart of the drama, Roberts said. Steamer Landing was the site of a sizable encampment that was finally cleared in mid-June, after months of public comment and legal action, both from public officials and encampment residents.

“Look, from the perspective of a person who is housed, I’ve had all the same thoughts and feelings and attitudes about the homeless that a lot of people do,” he said. “I’m on my way home from work and I stop at a light, and there’s someone with a cardboard sign there and I’m thinking, ‘Dude, you’re standing out here asking for my money? I just crawled around in an attic all day!’

“I know I can’t really judge him because I don’t know his circumstances — but that doesn’t stop us from judging him anyway, right?”

Chance meeting

Roberts, an electrician when he’s not acting, directing or writing plays, is a longtime member of SAG/AFTRA. He’s appeared in several films and TV shows, including playing a “henchman” in an episode of “Nash Bridges.” He’s written, produced and directed numerous plays and musicals, too. Last winter, he produced and directed his original play “Part of Me,” which he also designed and built the set and lighting for, at the Phoenix Theatre in San Francisco.

Back in the ’90s, he built and operated his own tiny San Francisco venue, The Jewell, converting a one-time hair salon into a 28-seat theater, a space so small that using the restroom during a show was impossible because it required walking across the stage to get to the toilet.

“Oh, people loved it,” Roberts said. “‘Stage voicing’ was totally unnecessary, as the floor area stage was inches from the audience.”

Of his writing, Roberts said he’s always tried to create characters that challenge audiences to imagine the perspectives of people outside their own day-to-day experience. Until now, however, he’s never considered writing about homelessness.

“Then one day I’m walking in Petaluma, three or four months ago, during one of our rare rainstorms, and I see a young woman, maybe 25, walking down Lakeville, half naked, gesticulating wildly and talking to herself,” Roberts recalled. “To be honest, she scared me, and I was concerned for her, because she obviously needed help, walking directly into traffic, totally oblivious to her own safety.”

Eventually, when he realized the woman was part of the unhoused community at Steamer Landing, Roberts decided to walk into the encampment to ensure she was alright.

“They obviously knew her there and could take care of her, but all of a sudden I was walking though this encampment that, quite honestly, I’d been avoiding and wanted no part of. And at first, I was a little frightened to be there.”

That’s when Roberts noticed something that upended his mindset.

“I realized that the folks there — when they saw me, clearly an outsider — were more afraid of me than I was of them,” he said. “That really struck me. So over the next few days, I went back and started talking to folks, and I met a gal named Sarah who was acting as a kind of house mother there. She was very open with me about her situation, and from that I began to see a compassionate, truthful way of writing a play about homelessness that could incorporate some of what I was learning.”

Change in perspective

Roberts, 70, admits he’s lacked compassion in the past.

“When we say ‘homeless problem,’ that’s a term that’s been usurped by us. It’s really our problem more than it’s the unhoused people’s problem,” he said.

“We’ve made it about our own inconvenience or our sense of disgust or indignation or whatever. But when you’re stepping over a guy lying on the sidewalk in San Francisco, is that a bigger problem for you or for him? Still, we act like homelessness is something that the homeless are doing to us, instead of something that’s happening to them, and that’s nothing but a lack of compassion.”

“Home” revolves around the relationship between a Chinese American woman, the daughter of a Chinese immigrant businessman with no patience for the homeless people camping outside his store, and some of the unhoused people her father is so incensed with. The story is told with humor and affection and builds to a powerful climax as the encampment faces demolition by the city.

Though Roberts only recently began thinking deeply about homelessness, he said he was able to populate his play with characters drawn from his years of working in the city, in constant contact with people from all walks of life.

“These are all people I’ve met and talked to and heard. These are all people I’ve lived around and lived with,” Roberts said. “I’ve purposely made the cast of characters very diverse, and I intend to carry through on that with the actors I bring in to play these characters, when I get the opportunity to put this on the stage.”

That’s his next step. In coming months, Roberts hopes to produce a reading of the play, to garner interest and move toward a full production somewhere.

“This is not a simple issue, homelessness,” he said. “And a play is not going to do anything to stop it or explain it or solve the problems of homelessness. But what theater does well is tell stories that invite us to imagine that those people are us, that we are them. And from that comes a willingness to see people in a new way. And when we can allow our perspectives to change, that, I think, is when the world can change, if only just a little. Maybe my play can be a small part of that.”

SCENE I

As dim lights rise, we see a large concrete or steel column, big bolts attaching it to a concrete footing, which disappears into the darkness above, supporting the freeway that passes above. Upstage right in the background is a corner liquor store/deli with a neon “open” sign in the window. A dilapidated chain-link fence with trash trapped in it is stage left. A 50-gallon rusted drum, used as a fire pit, is downstage right. Upstage right to upstate left is a collection of tents, tarps, ropes, dirty blankets, a bicycle with one wheel and various “collectibles” owned by the various tenants. Sound of fast-moving traffic on the freeway overpass above can be louder or softer or intermittent, depending on the scene. Evening. Windy. Foggy.

Jaylen, nicknamed “Bluejay,” 30s - 50s Black man, is sitting cross-legged, slumped forward, back against a cyclone fence, nodding from whiskey but not really asleep. Bluejay suffers from moderate stuttering, especially when upset or angry, and from insomnia. Gio, a self-described lawyer who dropped out from severe disenchantment brought on by mental illness, age early 60s, enters, carrying an armful of burnable items he’s collected and dropping them next to the fire drum; they bang against the drum loudly. He looks over at Bluejay, who remains semi-conscious. Gio brushes off his sleeves thoroughly, picking any stray bits from and straightening his jacket, attempting to compose himself, maintain his dignity in spite of his filthy attire. He begins to crumple pages of SF Chronicle, stopping to read occasionally, and other paper items, tossing them into the barrel. He looks over again at Bluejay. He then throws a piece of wood into the barrel, intentionally hitting the inside wall, loudly. Looks again to Bluejay, still nodding. Gio picks up another piece of wood and bangs it loudly on the side of the drum, staring at Bluejay.

Bluejay: (Awakens, startled, looking round.) Jesus Christ, Gio! What the hell was that?

Gio: Kindling. Gonna be cold tonight.

Bluejay: Jesus! I thought it was another wreck. (He indicates the freeway over their heads.)

Gio: (He picks up a copy of a newspaper from his pile and begins to crumple a page to get the fire started, but an article catches his eye. He momentarily un-crumples it and reads, then tosses it into the barrel. Lights a strike-anywhere match and tosses it in. Fire glows.) You ’wake?

Bluejay: (Slightly defensive) Yea, I’m awake. I’m always awake. You see me, right? I'm here — I’m awake. (Pulls a half-used cig out of his pocket, lights it.)

Gio: OK, then. Bluejay’s awake. Glad to hear it.

Bluejay: Well, you shouldn’t be. That’s cold. (Looks around, looks up.) What time is it anyway?

Gio: No idea. (Looks around at the light, the fog.) Judging by the wind and fog, I’d say about 6.

Bluejay: (Grabs an old wind-up clock from his junk and looks. An “s” in Bluejay’s dialogue indicates stuttering.) 6:10. OK. S--t. I gotta start getting it together. Grab my corner by 7. Optimum time slot. (Digs under some trash searching for his cardboard signs.) Ragbone (s) better not f--in’ (s) be there either. It’s my time. And he just scares the drivers with his weird-assed sign, says, “Need eggs. Please help.” Can’t be on my spot. He knows that. (Pulling on a filthy jacket. Pulls a flat, half-pint bottle from the pocket, takes a slug, puts it back.)

Gio: I don’t know what Ragbone knows. I doubt he knows that’s your spot. Gal he shares his tent with, Shelley, I think’s her name, she died right next to him. He didn’t know that. Slept there next to her for a couple nights. That’s why the cops came. Don’t think he even knew she was dead.

Bluejay: Whether or not, that’s my spot. He knows that.

Gio: When did you inherit that spot?

Bluejay: Inherit? (s) S--t. I created that. After they re-routed that off-ramp, spankin’ new asphalt and all, I saw what was up. (Pulling on his shoes and his fingerless gloves.) Nobody else saw it — (s) brand-new spot, but I did and I jumped on it ’fore anyone realized. Everybody getting off to the mission comes ’cross that corner and that light stays red for $3 - $4, I’m telling ya. Folks are tired, comin’ home, been stuck in traffic, hungry, all tore up from the day. And they prayin’ they can whiz on through the green light, (s) pretend I ain’t there — and then boom — light’s red. Or they got to sit there — lookin’ all sheepish and guilty, or get to chatting real sincere with their passenger. Otherwise, they just gotta dig out that wallet — and get me to go away — but I figure it’s worth it to feel good about themselves at the end of the (s) day.

Gio: Quite the game plan.

Bluejay: Damn right. Throwin’ ’em my curve ball. (Gestures throwing a curve ball). Hit it if you can.

Gio: Catch ’em looking, huh?

Bluejay: That’s right. Adjusting. That’s the key. (Pulls out a short stack of cardboard signs).

Gio: That your sign?

Bluejay: Signs. I have several. Tell me what you think. I’m flat broke. (Takes a swig of whiskey, holds one up, reads, shows it to Gio). “Homeless Vet. Anything will help.”

Gio: Pretty passé. And why are you lying?

Bluejay: Just a white lie. Ha! But ... (putting the sign aside) sometimes they just say, “Thanks for your service,” and (s) peel out. How ’bout this one — up the ante a bit. “No food, no drink, no money, tough s--t for me.”

Gio: Ah, the pity party. Does it work?

Bluejay: Yeah. No. Wrote that when I was angry one night when I did like two hours and got four dollars. How ’bout (Holds up the sign): “I lost my bus ticket and I gotta get home to my five children.”

Gio: The devoted father.

Bluejay: One guy offered me a condom. OK, how bout this one — used it down in Houston a while back. “Will work for ammo.” (Drawing of an AR-15 on the sign)

Gio: Artistic. I like it. Get any?

Bluejay: Ammo? Nah. Not too keen on assisting my people with weaponry down there. Some folks with a sense of humor were pretty generous though. For Texans. OK. Here’s my newest one. “I know you’re tired; I’m tired too. And hungry I bet, through and through. A tiny bit of dough will make my day, fill my tummy in a very special way. God bless you.”

Gio: A bit long for a stop light, but I like it.

Bluejay: Me too. You know ... (Stands) there’s a lot of poetry fans out there.