Interview with a Venice Beach Vagabond

Venice Beach Biennial: One boardwalk veteran sells a quintessential symbol of the urban landscape.

J. Scott Smith will interview for beer.

He also guarantees prospective patrons that he will spend their money on a Four Loko and cigarettes. 

Last weekend, Made in L.A. brought nearly 50 artists to this boardwalk regular’s stomping ground (Ocean Front Walk) for the Venice Beach Biennial.  Locals, art enthusiasts and tourists swamped the circus street for what has been called the tongue-in-cheek reference to Italy’s Venice Biennale.

            But perhaps the cheekiest parcel of the strip belonged to the 52-year-old homeless man from Baltimore, Md.

He sells Venice Bum Signs.

 “I been doing this for about maybe three months,” said J. with a hoarse voice.

He sat on a blue cooler with a white lid, a plastic cup full of markers on the cement to his right.  Behind him leaned a large navy blue Samuel Adams umbrella with his belongings tucked up next to it.

A dingy beige sheet spread out in front in front of him, displaying his marker-on-cardboard signs that go for two dollars a pop.

            My purchase of “BUMS ‘R’ US” allowed me a backstage pass, exclusive interview and unlimited photos.

            J. invited me to take a seat on some turned-over buckets next to him, and jokingly offered me some ham that sat wrapped in casing on the ground between us.

“The highest selling sign is, ‘FUCK YOU, PAY ME,” he said, laughing.

This Bum Sign is featured in the VBB exhibit booklet on the "No Free Photos" page.
Many boardwalk veterans display similar signs.

            Pink balloons dotted the boardwalk, signifying the stands of bona fide Made in L.A. artists who made the trek to the beach.  But for J, it was just another afternoon on the strip.

            “I come here every single day, man.  Seven o’clock in the morning,” he said.  “Right now I’m down about 15 [signs].”

            He was tired and didn’t feel like looking for cardboard.  Tweakers kept him up all night.

            “I sleep right over there,” he said, pointing to a street across the boardwalk. “See the red stripe thing?  I sleep right under that.”

            He used to sleep on the boardwalk before the ordinance changed.

            “It doesn’t make any goddamn sense ‘cause the California Coastal Commission says this is a national beach that you should always have access to twenty-four-seven, but LAPD says differently.”

"1-800-Go-Fuck-Yourself": The phone number J. recently gave a police officer.
He was subsequently handcuffed.

            December 1^st will mark J.’s third year in Venice, and despite his growing knowledge of city and state laws, he manages to rack up quite a few tickets.

“You can’t have an open container – which I have,” he said, and picked up a brown paper bag-encased Four Loko.  He took a sip.

“You can’t be smoking cigarettes on this side of the beach.  Supposed to go over there,” he said, pointing across the boardwalk.  “Which I never do.”

I made the mistake of asking if he ever pays those tickets.

“Oh hell no!  What’s the matter with you?  No.  God no.”

He rattled off a few expletives regarding the LAPD before expanding.

“I’m not gonna do community service.  I’m not gonna come out here with a little blue bucket and scrape up cigarette butts.  I’m not gonna pay the fuckin’ fine.  And I am gonna keep drinking.”

            He recently spent a day behind bars after giving an officer some lip.

“Spend one day in jail and all your warrants go away.  And they feed you too.  You can take a shower even.  It’s wonderful.”

           

J. plays guitar at the Winward Townhouse most nights.
The LAPD gave him the Harmony Hummingbird for reasons unknown.

            J. used to live in a 2,500 square-foot loft in downtown Baltimore.  He owned a 30-foot sailboat and had 10 acres of land in Vermont.  He was in construction and had three dot-coms.

            He lost all of it, plus another $60,000, when he went through a “wicked divorce.”

            “I knew I was gonna end up being homeless,” said J.  He decided to hitchhike to Los Angeles because he thought, “I ain’t gonna be homeless on the east coast and freeze my ass off.”

            The street-dweller may not have a home, but neither does he have hard feelings.

            “I hope she’s happy.”

Philosophy 101: "As long as you don't have a wife stealing all your shit, you're doin' good."

            As a man walked by Venice Bum Signs, J. greeted him, as he does to most passersby.  The guy looked confused by the interview setup.

            “Hey man, we’re livin’ the dream.  Got two hot chicks around me and money comin’ in.  What else could I want?” J. asked, then quickly answered himself.

“Maybe a crispy chicken sandwich.”

All photos courtesy of Erin Clark.