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AMBI: STREET AMBI FADE UP
NARR: (:40)
Eugene Gadsden survives on what he calls "blue bags" - the clear blue, plastic sacks of recyclables put curbside by residents.
ACT: I been picking up cans for 20 years Cokes and Pepsis .. and Budweiser bottles.
NARR: Gadsden, who is nearly 50 has New York's recycling schedule mapped out in his head blue bags are out on the lower east side on Wednesdays He heads to 30th street in Chelsea on Thursdays. Fridays its downtown.
BRING IN STREET AMBI - (Heels)
Gadsden's favorite spot is 220 West 26th street near 7th Avenue . It's an apartment building right across the street from where the Martha Stewart Show is taped. He's been showing up here every Thursday night at 7:30 for the past 5 years.
People walk by, all dressed up, on their way to and from dinner.
AMBI: (Heels walking)
Most don't even seem to notice Gadsden, as he sits quietly in a doorway He's waiting for maintenance men to haul out the blue bags.
They don't mind if he scrounges for cans, and are always friendly.
AMBI: ( Eugene and maintenance guys talking: "Hey hey, my friend.."(FADE HERE AND SNEAK UP BANGING AMBI. PLAY BANGING AMBI FOR TWO SECS IN CLEAR AND DIP UNDER TRACK)
NARR: The men drop off about 25 see-through plastic sacks (SNEAK IN PLASTIC RUMMAGING AMBI HERE. PLAY FOR TWO SECS IN CLEAR AND DIP UNDER TRACK) Gadsden picks one up and massages the bag looking for a can or bottle. Most of what's in there, he can't use.
AMBI: (Bags)
ACT: (:15)
That's why I have to go through it and take out the cans and the plastics and the bottles. Because they got cartons, and stuff that I don't really want.
NARR: (:10)
What Gadsden wants is aluminum cans and glass bottles. He'll spend two or three hours at this spot and come away with about $30 worth of recyclables. Then he'll move on to another spot. His goal is to collect at least 1,000 cans a night - or $50. Successful canning requires carefully honed strategies which Gadsden has shared with at least 25 of his friends.
ACT: I taught people like Anna, people like my cousin, I taught my brother how to can. Basically the key thing is where to go .. and being on time. And what can to get and what can not to get. When you go to the supermarket they don't take Colt 45 cans
NARR:
Gadsden fills his own plastic bags with recyclables then stacks them on Betsy. That's what he calls the blue shopping cart that he pushes all over town.
AMBI: of Betsy a rattling shopping cart)
Betsy has about eight, old mop and broom handles sticking up vertically from inside the cart. That way, Gadsden can stack many more bags, one on top of the other. He pushes Betsy back here, to 33rd Street.
AMBI: (Street noise from 33rd)
Gadsden dumps his bags off and then goes out canning again until 3 or 4 in the morning.
AMBI: (More AMBI of Betsy.)
He is the unofficial leader of about 15 or 20 canners who gather along a concrete wall at West 33rd Street, between 11th and 12th Avenues in Chelsea.
(PLAY DESCRIPTIVE AMBI UNDER TRACK)
They operate an ad-hoc co-op. Four or five times a week, a man named Eddy comes with a truck to pick up the canners' collection. The group arranges things neatly for him: their plastic bottles and cans are packed into bags. The beer bottles are stacked four-feet high in cardboard cases.
Eddy works for a recycling company, and pays 5 cents for each item he collects. He is supposed to arrive in the early afternoon but is usually late. The canners always wait for him. They don't really have another option. Today, he is nearly three hours late. Gadsden calls Eddy everyday from a pay phone on 30th Street .
ACT: (:14)
Hello Eddy?
OK - 20 minutes Ok all right. I'll see you when you come.
He said he'd be about 20 minutes.
NARR: (:30)
Back on 33rd Street, about 10 canners are waiting. Some drink beer and eat sandwiches. Fred is passed out, slumped against his stash of cans.
AMBI: (Luis, Amalia, Lauro talking Spanish.)
Luis Ortiz and his wife Amalia Wolina stand next their collection. They're a small couple - nearly 70 years-old - They came here from Ecuador six years ago. They're living with their son, and collect cans six days a week to help pay the rent. They make about $200 a week.
The couple talks with Lauro Villa, another canner whose wife is waiting in their car across the street. He works in a bakery and collects cans occasionally for an extra $100 a week.
Eventually, Eddy pulls up in his white truck.
AMBI: TRUCK NOISE UP
NARR: (:30)
Eddy works for a company called DRC Group, which has its main warehouse in the Bronx. Gadsden's cousin made the arrangement with Eddy three years ago. That's when a few redemption centers around the city closed. Supermarkets accept cans but not the large amount that this group collects. Without Eddy, the group would be forced to lug bags of cans and bottles around the city, looking for spots to cash them in.
When Eddy arrives, he asks each canner how much he or she has collected that day. He doesn't even verify the figure they give him - he just writes it down and moves on to the next person. The rest of the canners load the truck.
Eddy then calculates how much he owes each person counts out a wad of bills in his hand
(AMBI: of Eddy counting money)
And calls their names one by one to step forward and accept the cash.
ACT: "Fred Jackson Sam Luis Oritz . "
After Eddy leaves, most of the canners go back out to start collecting again. At night, they'll come back to 33rd street, (SNEAK IN 33rd Street AMBI) and sleep on the sidewalk next to their hauls so no one can steal their 12-hours worth of work. Gadsden sleeps on a blanket right next to his cans and to Betsy, his shopping cart. He and the rest of the canners need to guard their carts, the one thing that makes it possible for them to go out and collect each day. At their hang-out on 33rd street, it often smells like garbage, stale beer and urine.
Many of the canners are homeless. Several among them have drug or alcohol problems. They rely on soup kitchens for food, churches for shelter, and emergency rooms for medical care. Some are plagued by mental illness.
AMBI: (Drunk guy yelling in background)
Not everyone is destitute, however. Some, like the older couple from Ecuador, are just trying to make extra money they have apartments, other jobs and families.
Gadsden has been on both sides. He says he kicked his crack habit a few years ago, and now rents a room in the Bronx for $500 month. Sometimes he sleeps there on other nights he stays on the street next to his cans.
As the veteran among the canners, Gadsden keeps 33rd Street running smoothly so all of them can continue to work. They've been kicked out of spots before because business owners complained. Gadsden requires everyone to pick up after themselves and he doesn't allow drugs.
ACT: (:21)
THEY CAN DO ANYTHING THEY WANT, AS LONG AS THEY DON'T DO IT HERE. DRUGS IS JUST MAKES EVERYTHING WORSE. SO I TRY TO KEEP IT AS CLEAN AS POSSIBLE.
NARR:
Gadsden says he makes about $350 a week - or $18,000 a year. He likes being his own boss, and doesn't rely on public assistance.
He has a 27-year-old daughter, Tasha, who lives in Boston. She wishes he'd do something else. But Gadsden says he no longer cares what other people think about his job. He's gotten used to the strange looks. Plus some people understand that canning is a real job. Gadsden said he remembers one night when a woman watched him sort through blue bags, and told him that collecting cans takes heart.
ACT: YES IT DOES TAKE HEART GOING THROUGH THE GARBAGE YEAH, IT TAKES A LITTLE HEART SO
NARR:
But Gadsden knows he can't do this forever. There's more competition now plus - he's getting older and needs more rest.
Gadsden isn't sure what he'll do when he's done canning he might go back to the last job he had twenty years ago working as a short-order cook in a Harlem diner.
But even when he finally quits Gadsden says he'll be proud that he's managed to stay off welfare and pay his rent. He's done it all by himself can by can, nickel by nickel.
AMBI: (cans)
NARR: Ellen Gabler, Columbia Radio News.