Breaking the Cycle

By Jordyn Bebus, Alexander Grove, and Alli Sparks

The fine line between brilliance and deliriousness can often be blurred by circumstances. On an overcast evening at Buddy's Pizza in downtown Detroit, my friend and I invited a man to dinner. His name was John Ozzborne King, or Mr. Black, as he insisted I call him. He used so many aliases that it was hard to know where truth ended and fantasy began. He was also a man with a plan. 

The plan was a nationwide laughing gas balloon business. As the interview unfolded, it became increasingly difficult to discern whether the business proposal he repeatedly returned to was nothing more than the ramblings of a man deep in delirium. His disjointed thoughts circled back to this idea without fail. The simplicity of the concept and the desperation of his delivery left me wondering how many people with dreams have found themselves in situations even more hopeless than his. 

Mr. Black was not a stranger to hard times. He had the weathered look of someone who had been through much, yet he still embodied a youthful energy. His spirit was not broken, despite the crushing weight of his circumstances. In his recount of life, he had seen the inside of a jail cell, had served in the military, and had faced more setbacks than he cared to count. 

He had also reportedly attended universities, traveled across the country, and dabbled in musical pursuits. Yet here he was, at Buddy's Pizza, sitting next to all of his worldly possessions in a few drawstring bags, and trying to convince us that selling laughing gas balloons in every city across the United States was the key to solving the country’s problems and making millions in the process. 

Filling Every City with Balloons and Laughter

"Now, the deal is, you put 20 of these balloons in every city in this country," Mr. Black slurred slightly. "I'm telling you, the United States is in bad shape. Everybody hates each other now. But if you sell these balloons, 25 cents for kids, 50 cents for adults--guaranteed to work. Give me 1%, and send me a check. We'll make some money."

His eyes would glaze over in a way that suggested he wasn’t entirely present, at least not in the conventional sense. His laugh was loud and forced. It was as though he was trying to make a joke out of a reality he could hardly face, trying to find joy in a world that had given him so little. 

His stories seemed to float in and out of coherence, with the balloon business anchoring his thoughts. There was something about how passionately he described the experience of laughing and bouncing on a giant balloon at a carnival that suggested that he wasn’t entirely out of touch with his creativity. 

“Everybody just bounces around,” he said, his eyes lighting up. “There’s good music, like that,” he gestured to the jazz music playing in the background. “And you laugh and bounce around for 15 minutes. I mean, when you bounce out there, you go crazy. You crack up.”

His eyes widened with excitement as he sketched out visions of thousands of balloons in every city making people of all ages laughing together. Yet there was an element of desperation in his voice. He was trying to sell us on the possibility of a better future, one where drug-induced laughter could replace bitterness, and where, in his words, “we could make some money.”

At one point during our interview, Mr. Black began to sing along to the music, “I can sing to you, my name is blue.” It was one of the few moments in our conversation when he seemed truly present. 

I found myself grappling with a question: Could someone who grew up in well-off suburbs like Bloomfield Hills ever find themselves in this situation? When people with access to resources, education, and opportunities make the same poor choices, they may not end up sitting in a pizza place, selling a laughing gas business plan to strangers.

A Cycle Hard to Break

Mr. Black’s life was marked by instability, isolation, and systematic failures. Growing up in the Six Mile and Dequindre area, he had known hardship from an early age. His stories of childhood sounded chaotic, filled with references to drug use and “Indians” (possibly a euphemism for violence and gangs). 

“I’ve been around the country. I’ve seen a lot of things,” he said. “I’m just trying to make it. I ain’t got busted. I’m just tryin’ to make it through the nights. I’m glad you guys stopped me. Put a smile on my face.” In those moments, one could sense his vulnerability. There was something inherently human about his struggles, something that transcended his ramblings and bizarre business ideas. 

As disjointed and surreal as much of our conversation was, he offered sincere advice. “Be children who help each other, love each other. Help each other. Now whatever you want to do in your life, stick with it. Try to do it the best you can,” he continues. “You’re about 20 something? You gotta make good choices. I still gotta make my way.”

As the conversation with Mr. Black continued, I couldn’t help but notice how people around him dismissed him. People saw in him a person who had fallen through the cracks of society. When I excused myself to use the restroom, one of the waitresses approached me. She had been polite and attentive throughout our meal.

“He’s a lost cause,” she said quietly, almost apologetically. She probably had dealt with a lot of homeless people. It wasn’t the first time I had heard someone refer to a homeless person in such final terms. It is a sentiment that many in society hold about those who find themselves on the fringes, whether through addiction, mental illness, or poverty. To many, homeless people are unworthy of any help. 

Certainly, Mr. Black’s behavior seemed delusional and erratic, his ideas outlandish, and his life a series of poor decisions. He had no steady job, no home, and no apparent support system. It is easy to write someone like him off. We live in a society that often turns a blind eye to people who fall outside of what is deemed “functional.” The absence of support systems can trap people in cycles they can’t break. 

Mr. Black's balloon dream may draw ridicule, but at the heart of his ramblings lays something deeply human: hope. He wanted to make something of himself, to change his circumstances, and to find a way out. His idea, however flawed, was born out of a desire to reinvent himself and regain his means in a life that had stripped him of control. 

As we parted ways, Mr. Black’s phone was charged, his spirits lifted, and his laughter, once again, filled the air.

Homelessness has long troubled American cities. Recent waves of inflation and a heated housing market have made more people vulnerable to losing their homes. Since the Covid-19 pandemic, prices have soared but average salaries have remained steady. People with low income often faced eviction. In Detroit, the rise of the homeless population in recent years coincided with the increase in the average housing price, according to statistics released by the Homeless Action Network of Detroit and the real estate website Redfin. The City of Detroit has implemented a five-year road map to help its homeless population from 2024 to 2028.

Kate Monroe, a conservative entrepreneur and commenter, spoke about the issue of homelessness during an interview on Fox News. Monroe claimed that current support measures for homeless people fell short in reducing addiction and creating a safe living environment. She proposed a concentration camp-like plan to house and rehabilitate homeless people.

We fact-checked two of Monroe's claims:

• "1.3 million veterans are homeless or on the brink of homelessness." This is false. According to the Veterans Affairs website, there are 32,882 veterans who are experiencing homelessness in the United States. The number is much smaller than 1.3 million, as Monroe claims. Even if there were more veterans on the brink of homelessness, that would be an unlikely 4,000% increase from the official number.

• "Over 109,000 Americans die annually from drug overdoses, with many being homeless." This is somewhat true. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, there were approximately 109,680 drug overdose deaths in 2022. While the claim that 109,000 Americans die of overdoses is true, the statement is vague in the correlation with homelessness. It gives little insight and can be misleading.

I grew up in a small rural town where homelessness wasn’t an issue—at least not visibly. There were undoubtedly insecurities; I saw it with my own eyes among certain high school classmates. It was clear their parents struggled.

When I moved to Metro Detroit for college in 2022, I started to encounter homeless people on a regular basis. Homelessness in Detroit is not a new phenomenon. The area has its baggage of poverty, unemployment, and systemic inequality. 

According to the 2023 Point-in-Time count, over 7,000 people experience homelessness annually in Wayne County alone, which includes Detroit as well as surrounding cities like Royal Oak, Ferndale, and Southfield. This has snowballed into economic devastation, as affordable housing becomes scarce and rents skyrocket. Along with these challenges are the mental health struggles that significantly affect the homeless community.

I walk the streets and see these people in our neighborhoods. We need to maintain our compassion and realize that this could easily be us. Millions of Americans are just one missed paycheck or medical emergency away from being in the same situation. 

Stigma Is Part of the Problem

One day, I was at a Starbucks right off a business area. I always noticed the same three homeless men around. They never bothered anyone, though occasionally I would hear the Starbucks workers asking them to leave because they were sleeping on the couches.

A few months later on a cold November night, I visited that Starbucks again. The couches were gone. Someone had removed the couches, knowing that the group of homeless people would come in and use them to escape the cold.

For those who are homeless, it’s the stigma that truly isolates them. The stigma makes it difficult to get jobs and access the resources they need. The Department of Housing and Urban Development states that people living in shelters are more than twice as likely to have a disability compared to the general population. On a given night in 2023, 31 percent of the homeless population reported having a serious mental illness.

These numbers are real people. The media shame them for sleeping on the streets, but they once had families and lives. Many homeless individuals have held prior jobs or currently have jobs, but their wages don’t cover basic needs. The idea that homeless people are just "lazy" or "don’t want to work" doesn’t make sense. I highly doubt anyone would choose to sleep on Detroit’s streets when it’s 20 degrees outside.

Organizations like the Behavioral Health Urgent Care Center in Detroit have been game-changers for individuals with mental health issues. The government needs to fund such organizations to help get people off the streets.

The System Needs Change

People say they want to help homeless individuals. Yet many still think of homelessness as an individual problem rather than the result of a system designed to perpetuate economic disparity. 

Much of this issue stems from a generational lack of wealth. Kids who grow up in less stable environments tend to remain in those conditions. This is why we should address the root causes of homelessness. The intervention should not start when someone becomes homeless—it should start with prevention.

Community outreach is essential. For children growing up with parents who lack access to proper resources, outreach can provide the knowledge and support needed to break the cycle of poverty.

We must envision a future where homelessness is eradicated. This includes using abandoned homes in Detroit and the metro area for good, ensuring that mental health care and addiction services are readily available, and creating partnerships between businesses, nonprofits, and government agencies.

This vision is not impossible. From 2005 to 2015, Utah reduced chronic homelessness, a subset of the homeless population who lived on the streets for a prolonged time or had serious disabling conditions, by 90% through the Housing First initiative. Detroit can adopt similar measures. For example, in Southfield, a nonprofit is converting an old hotel into the Detroit Veterans Village to provide housing and services for homeless veterans.

Homelessness in metro Detroit is a crisis that demands bold action, investment, and community support. We must treat homelessness like any other problem—one that has solutions, even if they are complex and require significant effort and funding.