"That's my friend Mark crossing the street in the downtown area," Little said.

Adregian Little

Adregian Little has always had an interest in pictures.

“I used to watch the Tyra Banks, ‘America’s Next Top Model,’ like, how they angle all their shots,” Little said. “It’s just really interesting to me. I’ve just always had a thing for photography.”

With her Tribune-provided disposable camera, she “tried to get a little bit of everyone and everything of every corner and every angle.

“That’s my main thing in life is to try to involve everyone,” Little said, “and not have anyone left out.”

“This is the temperature of Salt Lake City: 100 degrees Fahrenheit. And then that’s my friend. His name is Mark. This is in the free fare zone right in front of the Energy Solutions Center. It was just a really hot day that day," Little said.
“I thought her watermelons were really beautiful and she was really into her selling and stuff," Little said.
“I was just trying to get the sign, the bus that he was waiting for. He wasn’t waiting for the blue, so he was obviously waiting for the next, for the green. It was pretty hot that day, too," Little said.
“This is my friend Randy. He’s a biker. He’s with Hell’s Angels. He’s really into the community and keeping it safe. And he’s all about BACA, against child abuse," Little said.

"We’ve got so many artists that are in the homeless community that we don’t even realize," Wolf said.

Larry "Wolf" Winn

Larry Winn, who goes by the name “Wolf,” believes he knows how to help Salt Lake City’s homeless community, and it’s not with three new shelters, he said.

Wolf has written a proposal to purchase a building where homeless artists — there are many more than we know, he says — can sell their work. Employees at the business can live in apartments upstairs. Wolf wants to have a drop-in center there, too, where people who just need a place to sleep can crash.

Wolf is an artist and businessman. He sells tie-dye t-shirts around the city.

“The way I look at it, put them to work. If they’re waiting on their social security benefits,” Wolf said, “give them something to do so that they’re not having an idle mind.”

Wolf has created his own plan for a center focused on homeless artists. “It’s the people that refuse to go down [to The Road Home] that I would focus on. Those are the ones that I’m focusing on because they’re allergic to spice or allergic to different things and even if they build three shelters, it’s not going to help the guys that won’t go down there to the Road Home.”
“In case you’re not sure what spice is, spice is that fake marijuana. It’s all chemicals. They’re putting formaldehyde and all kinds of stuff in it. … And that’s one of the reasons they don’t go down there. The other reason is the violence that goes on down there. The stealing. That type of stuff. I’ve got solutions for that," Wolf said.

"There’s a big problem on the plaza, who’s in charge? The police or security staff. I don’t know what the problem is," Coons said.

Chris Coons

Chris Coons is a 54-year-old electrician who became homeless after a spell of misfortune left him without a job or his family.

Coons’ goal was to show law enforcement’s interactions with the homeless community, particularly since Operation Rio Grande.

“I [wanted to] photograph the cops and see how they do things different now than they did before, and it ain’t a whole lot different. It’s just the Highway Patrol instead of the Salt Lake cops. Nowadays there’s more of them,” Coons said.

While Coons believed during the initial phase of Operation Rio Grande that Utah Highway Patrol troopers had better “bedside manner, better rapport with the people,” he says now they’re as tired of dealing with the homeless community as the city police are.

“How many times do you give a guy a ticket, take him to jail and see him on the street two hours later and realize, your job sucks, you know? Those guys gotta feel horrible,” Coons said. “They gotta feel like they’re not getting their job done.”

He doesn’t believe the housing problem is something Salt Lake City can police its way out of.

“They need therapists. They don’t need cops. This is not a criminal problem,” Coons said. “This is a medical problem that they’re trying to criminalize.”

“That one Karen took, because that building looked really, really cool. The sun on it. I was like, ‘OK, I’ll let you snap that one," said Coons.
“I’d been doing tai chi for about two months, three months, and all of the sudden I started on these antidepressants, and I could not remember the moves. I couldn’t remember what I’d been doing for four months. And I kind of used the tai chi to monitor the drugs as to how they were affecting me," Coons said.

"There’s Emile and Whitey that’s spizzed out."

"I used to be such a photogenic guy," said Trevor of his selfies.

Trevor Peebles

After getting laid off, Trevor Peebles left Pittsburgh in 2015. He made his way first to Denver, then to Santa Fe, N.M., then back to Denver. Peebles said he just sort of ended up in Salt Lake City.

“Long story short, I was supposed to do flagstone out here,” Peebles said. “That got pitched and I just remained out here ever since. I like the city.”

But leaving Pittsburgh has been hard. “When people see me, they kind of see that Pennsylvania attitude,” Peebles said. “It’s not a bad thing. It’s just, I keep reserved.”

“There we are all waiting for coffee. I’ve been doing this tai chi for about a year. And I can say this is honestly one of the better things I’ve done," Peebles said.
“There we are all waiting for coffee. I’ve been doing this tai chi for about a year. And I can say this is honestly one of the better things I’ve done," Peebles said.
“I’m a self-taught martial artist. I’ve learned from videos. I’ve learned from books. I’ve never had anyone actually teach me anything. So a lot of what I learned came from self-teaching. Tai chi helped me really understand the slowness, like very slow movements. It’s not just about being slow. It’s about understanding your body how in relation to everything around it. The best way I can explain it is painting with watercolors. You want to take your time with them," Peebles said.

"That’s DJ. He’s a little hustler. He’s homeless I don’t know where he sleeps. ... He says he’ll sleep somewhere and then come back to the park like in the middle of the night and go to sleep again," Muenchow said.

Tracy Muenchow

Tracy Meunchow’s pictures catalog the people she’s met and the places she’s slept. A series of images shows Tracy, her boyfriend and their friends sharing some Pabst Blue Ribbon beer.

“We both need to get jobs and start looking for work. Get back on our housing,” Meunchow said, looking at a photo she took of her boyfriend that night. “Get back on our housing.” She has been busted a few times for sleeping where it’s not permitted.

A friend of hers says he’ll leave the park at dusk and come back in the middle of the night to sleep.

“I’ve tried that,” she said, “and we’ve gotten busted by the cops every time.”

“That’s my boyfriend that won’t get off his little butt to come and do this this morning. Drunks. We both need to get jobs. And start looking for work. Get back on our housing,” Muenchow said, while at tai chi.
“That’s Sal. He’s got a place at Palmer’s Court but he comes down every once in a while,” Muenchow said.

"That’s Brent. He’s drinking a beer."

"Lawrence, he works for Maverick so I just took a picture of him."

"This is a store that’s kind of down by the park. And the reason why I’m photographing it is because it’s so run down. It’s all barred up," Jensen said.

Brad Jensen

Brad Jensen has lived in Salt Lake City most of his life and has been homeless off and on for the past 15 years. This current stretch — about two-and-a-half years — is the longest he’s gone without a home.

“[My dad] got sick real fast and died within a month. And then I ended up having to spend my savings for his funeral and medical costs,” Jensen said. “And it totally wiped me out. I lost my place.”

The two had a lawn care business. While Jensen tried to keep it going after his father passed, he kept running into challenges. His dad’s truck broke down, then his equipment got stolen. “I just kind of gave up on it. I still have like three [clients] that are my really long-term places, but I only do like weeding and flowers and stuff like that for them now,” Jensen said.

Every morning Jensen wakes up and strategizes: Where will he go? What does he need to accomplish?

“Sometimes I have commitments,” Jensen said, remarking that day he had two bracelets to sell at Liberty Park later on. “My priority is to do this tai chi, get smokes, get something to eat.”

“This is out right in front of the folk arts building in Liberty Park. And they were having a folk arts festival, and I thought this was really cool. This was really interesting. These guys were from Peru. That was kind of neat. … But that was another free concert. I just do all this free stuff," said Jensen.
“That’s a bigger group of people here. See, this guy’s hiding his face. He don’t want to get photographed. But this is kind of like my little group of people. We hang out when we don’t have anything to do. We just sit around and talk and play music," said Jensen.
"[These are] my really good friends here," said Jensen.

"There is a spot in the trees above Red Butte Garden where you can listen to the concerts."


"I was looking at this bridge as, like, this is an opening to a new day of me. What am I going to do today?"