Lee Blackburn

The corner in Little five points Atlanta is one similar to what someone would see in any big city beatnik part of town. I am drawn to this part of town for its air of forgiveness and spontaneity. As I walked the street lit by flickering bar signs and littered with tossed cigarette butts I was anticipating another memorable meeting.

This part of the city can be considered unsafe for a lone woman late on a Friday night, though there has not been a moment that I felt worried for my safety. It had been a few weeks since I had been back to this spot on the corner, and still some of the same faces were there. Tank and his dog Karma were the first pair that I spotted. I sat on the cement bench in front of the tattoo shop and talked to him during the last visit. I approached Tank while he was sitting on the sidewalk, knelt down and put out my hand to shake his. Tank was taken back that I remembered his name and immediately offered me his nap sack to sit on. For the next hour or so Tank told me of his recent trip to the hospital for a bite on his arm from a drunk friend. He played songs for me on the guitar he found on the corner, and sang a made up tune that only made sense to him.

Across the sidewalk I saw a skinny man that looked intimidating, he was not wearing a shirt and was covered with tattoos. I asked Tank if he knew him and he said no; he was a new guy to this spot. As intimidating as he looked the pain flowing from him was obvious and his story was one of immense sorrow.

Lee was born in Florida 36 years ago to an alcoholic father and drug addicted mother, his childhood was something you would not wish on anyone. Lee grew into a young man addicted to crack and believed he would be dead by the age of 25. Through his travel across the county he landed for a while in New York were he met a young woman that loved him for all his faults. Together they struggled with addiction and came out the other side holding hands prepared to get married. Life has a way of giving and taking away and Lee has had his rug pulled out a few too many times. His love was killed in a car accident and this is where the next spiral for this man happens. He told me of his fathering of two baby girls with a woman and how he is trying his best to be a good father to them in spite of his current situation. Lee handed me his handheld camera and asked me to scroll through the pictures of his daughters; he is clearly a proud father.

We talked of his tattoos, most of them he did himself over the years, marking his body as a visual expression of his pain. At this point in his life he no longer goes by the name Lee but is known as Turtle, a new identity for those that come and go in his life.
Turtle told me of his dark nights on the streets in different cities across this county and I listened to his tales of survival. Turtle has scars on his body as reminders of his life's struggle. The scars on his heart seemed to be what had brought him to this place though; pain deep in places that now leave him scarred.

Turtle looked me in the eye and said " I can't believe I told you all of this!" I replied with a simple answer.. I asked.

That night was indeed another memorable meeting for me and I thank Turtle for his honestly. Those that live on our streets deserve someone to listen, if only for a night to let some pain out through words. I think people like Tank and Turtle hold secrets in because they feel they will be judged by those listening. I left that night with no judgement towards the man formally known as Lee Blackburn, but instead walked away with a feeling of immense fulfillment in my part of his journey.


The bottom line is look up when you walk your city streets do not be afraid to focus your attention to that person covered in pain and shame. People are waiting for kindness and you could be the first ...