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Baphomet
Guest
Midtown Journal: Homeless Repairman Mixes High Tech With Low Overhead
December 7, 2003
By ALAN FEUER
N.Y. Times
Perry Vona works five days a week on a busy stretch of 43rd
Street between Fifth Avenue and the Avenue of the Americas,
which is not to say that he keeps an office there. Mr.
Vona, who is homeless, works on 43rd Street - literally -
repairing laptops, hard drives, keyboards, scanners,
monitors and whatever other detritus of the digital age he
can scavenge from the trash.
He is a common sight amid the pedestrians in Midtown, who
might encounter him at 8 a.m. on a weekday sitting in a
swivel chair, hunched over a stubborn piece of computer
hardware plugged into the base of a public light pole.
Working curbside with a fully stocked toolbox, he claims to
sell his products to wholesale buyers and bargain hunters
for as little as $60 to $80 apiece.
"I get them running, then I get them out the door," said
Mr. Vona, whose open-air repair shop has no door. "I don't
care what shape they come in, I can fix them."
"I do the upgrades, everything," he continued. "When I get
done with a computer, it'll work."
Mr. Vona - a big, tall, hairy, bearish man somewhere in
early middle age - has been earning his keep in just this
fashion for at least eight years. He makes his living at
the very intersection of high technology and consumer
culture; his survival depends on the built-in obsolescence
of computer goods.
The facts of his story are somewhat jumbled, none the least
because he is mentally retarded and admits to suffering
from a delusional mental illness. Mr. Vona clearly bears
the scars, in psyche and in body, from years of living on
the streets.
By his own account, he has led a tragic life. His parents
died when he was 4 months old, and he was raised by a
succession of foster parents, some of whom he says abused
him. He was an ironworker until 1996, when he was injured
on the job: a construction crane fell on top of him, he
says, and put him in a coma. When he awakened, he says, he
was imbued with an expertise in computer repair.
"Just like that," he said. "A gift from God."
This
fantastic story is at odds with an account he gave The New
York Times in 1995 when, using the name Carlos Sam, he
claimed to have learned his trade at an uncle's television
repair shop.
Nevertheless, one of his customers, reached at his request,
confirmed his basic tale.
"I do know Perry," said Anthony J. Barber, a computer
consultant. "I buy stuff from him every now and then. Some
of it's good, some of it's junk."
Mr. Barber said that after making purchases from Mr. Vona,
he would turn around and sell the items on his own. "We
both turn trash into cash," Mr. Barber said.
Mr. Vona has been busy in the last eight years keeping up
with the latest advances in technology, he says. He claims
to be fluent in HTML and Javascript, and says he knows his
way around televisions, cellphones, cuckoo clocks,
refrigerators, washers, dryers and sewing machines.
He has two basic methods of acquiring equipment, he says:
he roots through the garbage and he keeps a list of
contacts in the city Sanitation Department and among the
janitorial staffs of Midtown offices, who pass him castoff
computer goods.
Mr. Vona has looked for more established work, but he says
employers are usually unwilling to overlook his
homelessness. A man with skills but without a roof, he
says, gets nowhere.
"People look at you as homeless before they look at your
qualities," he said. "And if they don't like what they're
looking at, they don't look at you at all."
Recently, his business has suffered. He says that on the
day before Thanksgiving, the police threw out a portion of
his inventory, which he stores in canvas mail carts on the
street. He lost three hard drives, some monitors and a
couple of keyboards, he says.
"Yeah, some Thanksgiving present," he said.
Officers in
the Midtown South Precinct refused to comment on Mr. Vona's
accusations, aside from saying that he has never been
arrested. They added that he was a constant, and relatively
harmless, presence in the neighborhood.
But he seems to be hurting.
The photograph that
accompanied the article in The Times eight years ago showed
Mr. Vona hard at work, with the products of his business
spread around him.
On Friday morning, he had only a single cart, and it
contained a scanty tangle of broken goods.
He was eating breakfast on a blanket underneath some
scaffolding. The street was quiet, the day was cold. He
said he was depressed.
"All I want is a room," he said. "I got bad legs, bad
circulation and two heart attacks in the last few years. I
just want a place with privacy where I don't have to worry
about people stealing all my stuff. All I want is a place
of my own."
December 7, 2003
By ALAN FEUER
N.Y. Times
Perry Vona works five days a week on a busy stretch of 43rd
Street between Fifth Avenue and the Avenue of the Americas,
which is not to say that he keeps an office there. Mr.
Vona, who is homeless, works on 43rd Street - literally -
repairing laptops, hard drives, keyboards, scanners,
monitors and whatever other detritus of the digital age he
can scavenge from the trash.
He is a common sight amid the pedestrians in Midtown, who
might encounter him at 8 a.m. on a weekday sitting in a
swivel chair, hunched over a stubborn piece of computer
hardware plugged into the base of a public light pole.
Working curbside with a fully stocked toolbox, he claims to
sell his products to wholesale buyers and bargain hunters
for as little as $60 to $80 apiece.
"I get them running, then I get them out the door," said
Mr. Vona, whose open-air repair shop has no door. "I don't
care what shape they come in, I can fix them."
"I do the upgrades, everything," he continued. "When I get
done with a computer, it'll work."
Mr. Vona - a big, tall, hairy, bearish man somewhere in
early middle age - has been earning his keep in just this
fashion for at least eight years. He makes his living at
the very intersection of high technology and consumer
culture; his survival depends on the built-in obsolescence
of computer goods.
The facts of his story are somewhat jumbled, none the least
because he is mentally retarded and admits to suffering
from a delusional mental illness. Mr. Vona clearly bears
the scars, in psyche and in body, from years of living on
the streets.
By his own account, he has led a tragic life. His parents
died when he was 4 months old, and he was raised by a
succession of foster parents, some of whom he says abused
him. He was an ironworker until 1996, when he was injured
on the job: a construction crane fell on top of him, he
says, and put him in a coma. When he awakened, he says, he
was imbued with an expertise in computer repair.
"Just like that," he said. "A gift from God."
This
fantastic story is at odds with an account he gave The New
York Times in 1995 when, using the name Carlos Sam, he
claimed to have learned his trade at an uncle's television
repair shop.
Nevertheless, one of his customers, reached at his request,
confirmed his basic tale.
"I do know Perry," said Anthony J. Barber, a computer
consultant. "I buy stuff from him every now and then. Some
of it's good, some of it's junk."
Mr. Barber said that after making purchases from Mr. Vona,
he would turn around and sell the items on his own. "We
both turn trash into cash," Mr. Barber said.
Mr. Vona has been busy in the last eight years keeping up
with the latest advances in technology, he says. He claims
to be fluent in HTML and Javascript, and says he knows his
way around televisions, cellphones, cuckoo clocks,
refrigerators, washers, dryers and sewing machines.
He has two basic methods of acquiring equipment, he says:
he roots through the garbage and he keeps a list of
contacts in the city Sanitation Department and among the
janitorial staffs of Midtown offices, who pass him castoff
computer goods.
Mr. Vona has looked for more established work, but he says
employers are usually unwilling to overlook his
homelessness. A man with skills but without a roof, he
says, gets nowhere.
"People look at you as homeless before they look at your
qualities," he said. "And if they don't like what they're
looking at, they don't look at you at all."
Recently, his business has suffered. He says that on the
day before Thanksgiving, the police threw out a portion of
his inventory, which he stores in canvas mail carts on the
street. He lost three hard drives, some monitors and a
couple of keyboards, he says.
"Yeah, some Thanksgiving present," he said.
Officers in
the Midtown South Precinct refused to comment on Mr. Vona's
accusations, aside from saying that he has never been
arrested. They added that he was a constant, and relatively
harmless, presence in the neighborhood.
But he seems to be hurting.
The photograph that
accompanied the article in The Times eight years ago showed
Mr. Vona hard at work, with the products of his business
spread around him.
On Friday morning, he had only a single cart, and it
contained a scanty tangle of broken goods.
He was eating breakfast on a blanket underneath some
scaffolding. The street was quiet, the day was cold. He
said he was depressed.
"All I want is a room," he said. "I got bad legs, bad
circulation and two heart attacks in the last few years. I
just want a place with privacy where I don't have to worry
about people stealing all my stuff. All I want is a place
of my own."