Hello to all.  I hope this letter finds you happy and healthy in the new season.  For me, 2009 has been filled with incredible experiences, new relationships, a renewal of my personal values, and an overwhelming sense of purpose.

As you all know, this summer I traveled the country collecting stories from people affected by the recession, in what I called ‘The Man In A Van Project’.  The stories I collected were numerous and varied, and I came away with a greater sense of compassion and empathy for all those who struggle.

Along my journey, I met the rich, the poor, the middle-class, average Joes, politicians, the media, bankers, realtors, attorneys, collection agents, farmers, immigrants (both legal and illegal), gay, straight, religious, atheist, civil rights advocates, healthcare reform advocates, tea party organizers, Republicans, Democrats, Independents and Constitutionalists, lovers, haters, vets, single parents, divorcees, recent college graduates, thieves, drug dealers, abusers, enablers, escapists, prostitutes, trauma victims, small business owners, corporate executives, entrepreneurs, the homeless, soccer moms, students, unemployed factory workers, union protesters, suicidal types, travelers, and just about every other category of person you could stereotype.

The experiences I gathered in four months have been more complex and profound than anything else I’ve learned in the past ten years.  My emotional intelligence has skyrocketed, and I am deeply grateful for having gained insight into what makes America tick.

I’m now writing a book about the experience, and believe it or not, I’m still living in the van.  I get quite a few stares, but not nearly as much as I did in the summertime.  I moved to Seattle a month ago, and the van is starting to get dingy with the constant rain and cold.  In fact, I think the engine block might be cracked.  I’ve been told the van won’t last more than a week from now, and I’ve been having trouble starting it on most days.  Needless to say, I’m trying to think of immediate alternative housing.  I was hoping to preserve the van for museum consideration and move into an apartment by now, but I understand the reality of my situation and accept the struggle (and I refuse to post the van on eBay and/or buy lottery tickets).

In the meantime, I got a job!  Woohoo!  And I’m also applying for literary grants and seeking sponsorship.  The job is part-time in the food service industry, and it pays minimum wage.  I am thankful for it, and I do my work with enthusiasm and with a positive attitude.  I haven’t yet received a paycheck, but soon it will come.  The literary grant I’m seeking will hopefully pay for an apartment so I can write with ease (and for longer periods of time), but honestly, this option is looking less and less feasible.  Persistence is the name of this game, though, and I’m not giving up unless they give me a definitive “no”.

When the book is finished, it will reflect the journey I had throughout the states, along with an exhaustive compilation of transcribed recession stories from the project.  I don’t yet have a publisher, but I’m not concerned with that at this point.  I just need to chip away at writing everyday, and I’m confident it will capture the interest of publishers and readers in due time.

If you’d like to follow my progress as I write the book, please follow me on Facebook.  You can add me as a friend, but also don’t forget to join my Facebook group (of the same name: Aaron Heideman).  I recently started posting one new recession quote each day on the group page, and I will be updating the group with progress reports on a regular basis.  I’m also inviting everyone to participate in various discussions on the group page, to promote dialogue and expression.

So again, I hope all is well, and I also want to thank EVERYONE that supported me throughout the journey, either through encouraging words or monetary support.  Every last penny I received was used as resourcefully as possible, and I always had just enough to keep going.  It was truly providential.  I also gained a lot of momentum from the encouraging words I received, and although I didn’t always have time to respond to everything that was shared with me through Facebook, Twitter, or on my blog, I was listening to all of it.  The encouragement was just as helpful as money, and continues to hold motivational weight.

Don’t be afraid to say hello.  I’m thankful for all my friends.

With Love,

Aaron Heideman

Man In A Van

Comments (2) Dec 09 2009

Okay, everyone.  Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve posted on the blog.  Too many things have happened along my journey to keep up recently.  Traveling through Michigan collecting recession stories, competing in Artprize…  My goodness.  Where do I begin?

Well, I can tell you that I didn’t win Artprize.  In fact, I didn’t even place in the Top 100.  It’s totally okay.  In fact, that’s not what it was about anyway.  If I would have won, there’s no way I could have possibly slept at night unless I gave the money away.  Actually, that was the plan.

There’s so much to write about.  So much to share.  So many stories and experiences, both personally and throughout the communities I’ve visited.  I’m hoping you will continue checking up on my progress.  It’s not over until these stories are told to a mass audience, and Artprize wasn’t exactly what I was expecting.  I plan to write a book now; I just hope it will do justice to all the things I’ve learned along the way.

Please continue in your interest with this project.  I still need to get back home, so if you’re able to support the project with a donation, please click the Paypal button on the side of the screen.  I’m also looking for a 6-month artist residency in the Seattle area, an artist grant to pay for living expenses, and storage for the van and banner until I can get them into a permanent museum collection.  I also need to find a book publisher.  Let me know if you have any ideas to make these things happen.

I look forward to sharing the project with all of you in book form later on in 2010.  Thanks again for your encouragement and support.

Aaron Heideman, The Man in a Van Project

Comments (8) Oct 09 2009

Yesterday I went to three churches in Elkhart, Indiana.  It was a Sunday, and admittedly I hadn’t been to church in a while (had to catch up somehow).

At 10 am, I entered the New Hope Community Church, a non-denominational Christian group that meets at an old movie theatre in the downtown area.  In between songs, the music leader would move toward the microphone, and say things like, “We praise you, Jesus. We want to praise you and glorify you.”  At one point, he said, “We want to listen to you, Lord.”

Mmm. “We want to listen.”  Loved it.

Then “Pastor Al” approached the podium.  Al is a scary lookin’ dude.  Husky, broad-shouldered, bald, with a gnarly handlebar mustache, he looked more like a jujitsu wrestler than a man with a religious message.

As the pastor started speaking, I couldn’t help but cringe.  He opened the speech by talking about a UFC fight he had watched on television with several friends, and how the cage fight reminded him of other cages we have in our lives.  Okay.  I suppose I can hang on to see where this is going.  Ultimate Fighting didn’t seem like the most appropriate pastime for a pastor, but to each his own.

Pastor Al continued by explaining that “religion” is a cage that traps a lot of people, and that, although the term “religion” means, “to be bound,” he says, it wasn’t created by God.  He used the example of Cain and Abel, and said that from the beginning of time, man has been fighting in the name of religion, and that it has been used throughout history to keep people oppressed.  Fair enough.

Now this is where things started to throw me off.  Al said that we don’t need religion; we need relationships.  But he went on to bash anyone and everyone that belongs to a religion, whether organized or otherwise.  He said we shouldn’t focus on “their” sinful nature just because “we” understand the truth.  And at this point, I was ready to walk out.

I stayed for the entire service, but it was definitely a difficult decision.  When the service was finally over, I stepped outside to find a camera crew from ABC World News hovering over my van.  I knew they were coming, but wasn’t expecting them to find me without a phone call.  Elkhart is kind of small.

Pastor Al approached the van while the news crew was there, and proceeded to explain on camera that I had attended his church service.  He said he liked what I was doing, and then he plugged his church.  Something about it didn’t seem right.  This is about listening, not promotion, and I certainly didn’t get the sense that anyone was listening.

From there, I collected stories throughout Elkhart, and felt bogged down by the burden of having a camera crew.  People don’t like cameras; they don’t trust cameras.  But the guys were nice enough.  The producer even brought his two kids along because they thought it was a cool project.

In the evening, I was exhausted (as usual).  I drove past a Catholic Church and decided to stop in.  I wanted a quiet place to take a nap, and this was perfect.  When I walked into the lobby, I noticed a stack of donation envelopes sitting on a coffee table.  I remembered how, weeks before, a professional thief donated $20 toward my project.  I didn’t want to keep the money, but hadn’t determined where it should go.  I took an envelope and inserted a twenty.  I started to write an anonymous note, but fell asleep on a bench before I could finish the sentence.

An hour later, I was awoken by a loud, “Ahhhh!”  Apparently, I wasn’t supposed to be in the lobby, and I scared the priest.  The door I had entered through was supposed to be locked, but someone didn’t shut the door all the way.  He asked me what I was doing, and I said I just needed a place to rest.  He then walked me to the door, and I handed him twenty bucks.  “What’s this?” he asked.

“It’s for the nap.  Someone gave it to me, but it’s not right that I keep it.  Give it to someone that can use it,” I said.

“That’s providential.  I know just the family.”

So then I left, twenty dollars poorer, but satisfied.  It was a good nap.

Later in the evening, I pulled into downtown and discovered another worship service.  This time, it was a congregation of crazy, crazy people.  I stood outside, watching, until a minister in a bright red suit and shiny black shoes spotted me.  He came out and invited me in with a big smile and open arms.  My curiosity was sparked, so I walked in.

For the next twenty minutes, I shivered from the intentionally cold air conditioning.  The microphone was about three decibels too loud, and the people inside were yelling, screaming, and pounding their hands against the chairs in front of them.  Whoa.

They referred to their pastor as “Prophet,” and he was making some incredibly weird sounds.  Every once in awhile, he would say something in English, but it was mostly gobbledy-goop.  “Abbababa-Bu, Glo-Mach-Ding-Tata-Boo, Shloka-Dawpa, Matee-Co-Yempu-Schejay.  And God sold his Son.  He SOLD him.  Glampop-Ba Daw-Kly-Shoqua.  So that you could be FREE, and preach his Word.”

Abnoxious voices surrounded me, sounding more like cursing than praise.  “Christ Almighty!!!”  “Oh, Jesus!!!”  “Holy Christ, give me some of that!”

Eventually they got to the part where someone needed to be saved.  The minister in the red suit approached me and took my hand.  He started shaking and dancing.  He pulled me out of my chair, and I said, “No.  No, I appreciate it, but no.”  There was no way in hell I was going up front!

The red-suited man then paused and held my hands.  He said, “We don’t look down on you.  We’ve all been where you’re at in life.  Just because I wear a fancy suit and drive a Cadillac doesn’t put me above you.  We’ve all had tough times.  I used to be a heroine junkie.  I turned my life to God.  I don’t judge you if you’ve done something wrong.  Maybe you’re on drugs.  Maybe your family has rejected you.  We want to put that all aside.  We want you to hear the Word of God.”

At this moment, I couldn’t decide if I should roll with it and break down in tears and proclaim, “I’m saved!  It’s a miracle!” or if I should simply show him the van and explain what I’m doing.  After all, I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.  He thought I was a desperate, tormented bum.

We walked outside, and I said, “Look.  That’s my van.  I’m letting people share their personal experiences and express themselves.  I’m going all over the country listening to people.”

He said, “So.  Is that van gonna get you to heaven?”

What?!!!  That kind of threw me through a loop.  I didn’t know how to respond.  It was so irrelevantly argumentative!  “You’re not listening,” I said.

“Yes I am, I hear you.  I’m a great listener.  People come to me all the time for help.  But listening isn’t gonna get you to heaven.  You gotta do something about it.”

“I am,” I said.  “I’m helping people.”

“Okay, that’s fine,” he said, “I’m not saying you’re doing anything wrong.  But if Jesus came down today, do you think he would take you with him?”

I said, “That’s not for me to decide.”

Then he said, “So you think that van is gonna get you to heaven?  Cuz that’s what you’re telling me.”

Again… What?!!!  “No, I didn’t say that.  Those are your words.”

Then he said, “You can do whatever you want on the outside, but you gotta change the inside.”  And then we parted ways.

The man in a red suit solidified my belief that listening is the answer.  If you don’t listen, how will you ever know what the problem is?  How can you possibly serve if your perception is based on assumptions?  Unbelievable.

Comments (9) Sep 07 2009

In case you didn’t read my previous post (archives), I want you all to know you’re more than welcome to share your personal experience of the recession on this blog.  Many of you have done so, and I encourage those who haven’t to write your story.  This is a way for all of us to connect in our struggles, and to find hope in the reflection and encouragement of others.  Take care,

Aaron

Comments (2) Sep 07 2009

When I stopped in Rhode Island, I met several types.  The two common themes I discovered centered on the issue of local government spending, and homelessness.

Apparently, many in the workforce feel that taxes are too high, and that the local politicians are corrupt.  There are 39 school districts in the small state of Rhode Island, according to three separate people I spoke with, and each district has it’s own superintendent and individualized leadership.  This apparently adds to the local tax burden, which supposedly includes a $5,000 excise tax for simply owning a vehicle.

Of the residents I spoke with, no one could explain where their tax money goes.  Several speculated that politicians are padding their wallets through special interest causes. Some even went on to say that local mafia is going strong, since Providence is a central location between Boston’s Irish and New York’s Italian families, respectively.

I also heard from several homeless residents, and I discovered that the homeless population is not welcome in Providence.  “Bob” used to work construction throughout Rhode Island, but when the industry turned for the worst, he was forced to live on the streets.  “Wayne” turned to alcohol, and now he feels his life will never turn around.  In fact, he was drunk when I spoke to him.  He said he would continue to drink throughout the day because he hated his life.

Then I met a man named Gary, a published author and motivational speaker.  Gary and his wife teach an ancient Chinese technique for dealing with stress and anxiety.  It’s called Emotional Freedom Technique, and it apparently involves hypnosis, but it’s something people can do on their own.

Gary was an interesting guy.  He seemed to be very genuine and caring, and I could tell that he was certainly a grounded individual, emotionally speaking.  I’ve never tried hypnotherapy, but if I did, I would go to Gary for help.  He was so nice to speak with, and very positive.  He encouraged me to keep going with my project, and his techniques really seemed to parallel with my objectives to learn the art of empathy and listening.

I love the idea of emotional freedom.  This is what America needs.

Comments (4) Sep 05 2009

When I pulled into Washington, I found a parking spot just a few blocks from the White House.  I got out and walked around for a minute.  A few people walked by, and a few even noticed my orange van out of the corner of their eye.  When I was lucky enough to grab someone’s attention, I was told that Washington is insulated from the recession due to the presence of the government.  I almost felt stupid for not having expectations of the place, but it made complete sense.

Within a few minutes, a staff writer for the Washington Post named Ylan walked up to my van, so I explained what I’m doing.  “I’m traveling the country collecting stories from people affected by the recession, and in September, it’s going on display at an art competition in Grand Rapids, Michigan,” I said.  “If you have a story, you’re welcome to share it.”  She was thrilled.

Although she didn’t provide her own story, Ylan offered to help find a better parking spot that would get me closer to the White House.  We were only three blocks away.  She wanted to ride along, so I opened the passenger door, and she hopped in.

For the next 30 minutes, Ylan and I drove through Washington “looking for a parking spot” while she analyzed the heeping garbage pile that separated our seats, the stickers that plastered the inside of my van, and the gigantic crack that spans the length of my front windshield.  She asked questions.  I talked.  She tried to show me famous landmarks such as the Kennedy Center and Watergate, but I couldn’t pay attention.  Those roads are confusing.

We almost went to Maryland, or Virginia, or some other state since I was admittedly not paying attention to the road, but eventually, I found a parking space in front of Lafayette Park, just one block from the White House.  I pulled out my 50-yard Tyvek banner, markers, and signage, and proceeded to approach the front sidewalk behind the iron fence at the White House.  After collecting a great deal of story content, Ylan left so she could write a story, and I was eventually asked by the secret service to leave the area.

The secret service guy was nice, and I was respectful.  I negotiated another 30 minutes to collect stories before moving to Lafayette Park across the street, but I was kicked off the property by a park ranger almost immediately.

Throughout the day, I continued to collect stories throughout Washington.  At one point, more than a hundred people shared their personal experiences when I was situated at a fountain square on the other side of town.

People have stories.  Everywhere.  But I noticed a major disconnect between what’s going on in the government and what’s happening on the streets.  In fact, throughout the country I’m hearing angry Americans plead for mercy, and I would even say we’re on the verge of a radical and revolutionary change in the collective heart and mind of this country.

The homeless population is growing.  People are trying their damnedest to remain positive and get through this, but many are resorting to forms of escape in this harsh reality.  Drug dealing is on the rise.  People are giving up on their hometowns and moving away.  Many have nowhere to go.

Welfare assistance is a reluctant consideration, if even an option.  Mothers that demand better childcare programs aren’t finding their desired response from the government, even though their primary motive is to get back to work.  And a lot of critics are screaming, “Socialism!” while supporters fail to see any benefits from the stimulus package.

Food banks are losing money, crime is increasing, and realtors are charging flat-fees that make once-affordable homes relatively less valuable.  Banks are turning down $30,000 home loans in depressed areas, but still awarding $300,000 loans to people that can’t afford it (according to an account in Ohio).  It’s still happening; no wonder economic confidence continues to deteriorate in America.

More than anything, this project is one of therapy, through the art of listening and empathy.  When people approach me, I remain as neutral as possible.  My personal politics are irrelevant to the conversation that has been started through this project.

If there’s one common political message I’ve heard throughout the country, it’s that Washington needs to get serious about immediate results.  America is growing impatient.  America wants change.

Comments (5) Sep 05 2009

Dear President Obama,

I’m traveling the country collecting stories from people affected by the recession.  It’s called The Man in a Van Project, and I’m letting Americans from all walks of life write down and document their recession stories.  The final project will be on display and competing for Artprize, at the Grand Rapids Community Foundation in Grand Rapids, Michigan from September 23 through October 10, 2009.

I’ve heard from thousands of Americans that have experienced differences in their daily lives due to the recession.  Some stories are good, while others are tragic.  Some offer political anecdotes, while others stick to sharing a personal experience or life perspective.  Some stories are even humorous, and others remind us about the value of family and our communities.

Mr. President, I am extending an invitation for you to participate in this American collaboration by writing your personal story of the recession on my van.  How has the recession affected you?  This is a chance for you to connect with Americans from all political persuasions in a creative and empathetic fashion.  Your story will share the canvas with stories from teachers, nurses, real estate agents, the homeless, students, and many others.  My hope is that these stories will act as a form of therapy for America so that we can move forward, in our own lives and as a country.

Please consider meeting with me to write your story.  I also encourage you to invite your friends, family, associates, and political adversaries to join in this American expression.  I want to hear from everyone, including you.

Sincerely,

Aaron Heideman

The Man in a Van Project

Comments (18) Aug 21 2009

I pulled into Charleston, South Carolina last week without a dime to my name.  The tank of gas that was given to me was halfway gone.  I needed to do something, and I needed to do it soon.

Anyone that knows me understands that this project is all about collecting stories and connecting with people.  But when you need gas, you need gas, and no one said I couldn’t sell a few t-shirts along the way!

I parked in front of Fish, an upscale restaurant and bar in Downtown Charleston, with the sole purpose of earning gas money.  As I continued to work the sidewalk, the stories kept coming in.  When all was said and done, I made $200 in T-shirt sales, which lasted me through my next two stops.

Halfway through the night, I met a man from Charlotte who was celebrating his 28^th wedding anniversary with his wife.  When he walked past, he rolled his eyes and sighed.  “Are you a Michael Moore type?” he asked.  “Why are you parked in front of a fancy restaurant?  Is there a camera pointed at me?”

After explaining the project, I asked him if he’d like to write down his story.  At first he declined, but after negotiating with him for a minute, he agreed to tell me his story verbally.

Turns out, this guy is a realtor that went from making $100,000 per year down to only $6,000 so far in 2009.  “How can you afford to eat at this restaurant?” I asked, not realizing it might be a touchy question.  He looked at me and paused.  Then he explained that it was his 28^th wedding anniversary, and that he just wanted to celebrate what he has.  He didn’t want to think about the recession; he just wanted to enjoy his wife’s company.

He went on to explain that his house burned down last year, and that insurance didn’t pay the full value of the house, so now he’s renting.  He lives primarily off of savings, and that makes his efforts toward work discouraging.

I don’t know how to end this blog post.  I’m feeling a bit exhausted and overwhelmed by this project.  If you have any thoughts, please share them.

Comments (4) Aug 21 2009

I ran out of money in Brunswick, Georgia and it caused me to get stuck.  Again.  I was running low on food, so I went to Victory Assembly of God Food Bank on Saturday morning.

When I showed up, I met Charles and Jane Smith, a retired couple that run the food bank.  Charles told me that in January a woman had come to the church asking for food.  He told her they didn’t have a food bank and she was turned away.  He felt horrible.

In February, they opened the food bank to 60 families in the first week.  After five months, they now feed 574 families, and they’re losing about $1,000 dollars per month to maintain the service.  Their community continues to grow.

When I walked in, I noticed a huge stack of Hostess doughnut boxes, next to a stack of more doughnut boxes, next to a pile of cheap fluffy bread loaves and a large quantity of tomato soup cans.  Although they offered other foods that were more nourishing, I was surprised to see so many unhealthy food choices in their inventory.

What really surprised me was the lack of protein in the food supply.  However, Jane stated to the crowd, “Make sure you take a package of meat before you go.”  I couldn’t take it because I lack refrigeration, and because ice is too expensive to maintain on a regular basis.

I learned that Jane and Charles purchase their food from a non-profit supplier, and I’m assuming their selection is determined by their budget.  This is sad to me because they’re doing such a great service to their community.  If they had more money, they could actually select a healthier stock, but things are tough and money is tight.

At the bottom of Charles’ business card, it reads, “Give and it will be given unto you.  Luke 6:38 (NIV).”  Before I left, Charles asked me how much gas I had in my tank.  It was half full.  He then sent me down to the gas station to fill up at his expense.

If you would like to donate toward their cause, you may send donations to: Victory Assembly of God Food Bank, 4232 Old Cypress Mill Road, Brunswick, GA, 31520.  They could use some help.

Comments (2) Aug 21 2009

I’ve been staying in Brunswick, Georgia for the past few days, because… well… I’ve had this unbearable sunburn that led me to the nearest hospital.  Brunswick is where I happened to be while driving down the freeway.

My legs turned purple, my ankles swelled like some kind of exotic fish, and gigantic blisters formed, but refused to pop until just yesterday.  My legs felt like the very essence of atrophy (death), and I was concerned that I might be developing a blood clot in my right thigh.

Turns out, I was apparently being dramatic.  I’ll deal with the hospital bill later.  But when I was at the hospital, I met a security guard who took his job because he couldn’t afford to work on his own farm.  His name is Terry, and his story adds a unique perspective to this project.

Terry’s wife manages the small farm, which includes goats, cows, and a plethora of crops and vegetables.  Terry helps whenever he can.  They do a lot of canning.  He explained that his income has suffered over the years because the beef industry is owned primarily by three companies: ADM, Cargil, and Monsanto.  Combined, these companies own 80% of the national market according to Terry, and that makes it hard for Terry to compete and maintain his small farm.

As we continued our conversation, I learned that Terry doesn’t give his cows any kind of shots or hormones whatsoever.  “Seriously?” I asked.  Yep.  His cows don’t need shots, because his cows don’t produce the bacteria you would find at a massive feedlot.  He also said his beef is better than anything out there.

“When you have that many cows on one piece of land, you create a lot of germs,” he said.  “I won’t even rinse off my boots when I go to a feedlot.  I just throw the boots away.  I can’t afford to get my cows infected.”

He also explained that “some of the tractors now-a-days” come with luxury features, including GPS, stereo systems, air conditioning, and a fancy computer interface that allows stealth-like operation on the fields.  Terry said these tractors cost up to $800,000.

“I have a 50-year-old tractor, and it works just fine,” said Terry.  “I don’t understand why they have to get the latest, greatest farm equipment.  If it breaks, how are you supposed to fix it?”

But automation is obviously the key motive for purchasing an $800,000 machine, and a lot of people are losing their farms due to automation.

About five years ago, I went to a Farm-Aid concert featuring Willie Nelson, John Mellencamp, Neil Young, and Dave Matthews.  Neil explained that hundreds of family farms go out of business every week in the United States because of corporate farming.  He urged people to buy local, even if it costs a little more.

When I lived in Southern Oregon (just before moving into a van), I rented a house on a 300-acre dairy farm.  The couple that owned the farm couldn’t afford to maintain the business without each having separate day jobs.  She worked at a beauty salon, and he worked as a baggage handler at the local airport.  On several occasions, they mentioned that they might not be able to keep all their cows because they simply couldn’t afford to feed them.

And in Coburg, Oregon, I stayed on a dairy farm for a month several years ago, and that farm is on the brink of bankruptcy.  Apparently, the cost of operation is too high to maintain a competitive edge against bigger companies.

So now I’m curious… What do you think about corporate farming?  Do you care if your steak was formerly a germ-infested, walking sess pool that only reached your dinner table because it was infused with anti-bacterial hormones and chemicals that prevented it from dying early of sickness, or do you support family farming even if it costs a little more money?

Okay, so that’s a bit leading.  But honestly, do you care?  Can you afford to shop local?  How do you buy beef, and why?  Where do you buy it?  I’m curious.

Comments (24) Aug 14 2009