My Unhoused Story: Winston-Salem resident Ron Schultz tells his story, onstage and off

Featured photo: Homeless resident Ron Schultz gazes at Winston-Salem’s skyline. (Photo by Louie Poore)

“My name is Ron, and I’m homeless.”

Ron Schultz sits on a step in Winston Square Park next to his faithful dog, Hope. He’s wearing a sweatshirt from La Barberia, a local barbershop that gave Schultz a free shave and haircut in September.

Schultz recently participated in Voices from the Dwelling, a twice-yearly public performance featuring unhoused members of City With Dwellings, a Winston-Salem resource center. Partnering with arts nonprofit Authoring Action!, participants develop their material in a writing workshop over a period of eight weeks, culminating in two public performances at the Dwelling at 502 N. Broad St. 

Nathan Ross Freeman, co-founder and creative director of Authoring Action! explained during the second performance on Oct. 25 that the program aims to help unhoused people “give themselves permission to say what they need to say.” They chose four prompts for this ensemble: Judgement, resilience, storm and grace.

In the park, Schultz describes how it felt when he first came out onstage to perform his “judgement” section.

“I pulled my hoodie down over my head, and I kinda shuffled as I walked,” Schultz says.

When it was his turn to speak, he lumbered up to the stage, “swinging [his] arms around like some people [he’s] seen that [he knows] know are deeply in addiction.” 

“In my mind I’m like, I’m gonna demand these people judge me and I hope I throw it back in their face when I start talking,” he says.

That’s when he pulled his hoodie off and began his monologue.

Schultz stood under the stage lights, his voice booming out to the ears of the audience: “On the top of the mountain, there is no judgment from friends or strangers. You can avoid the incredulous glare from others while you admire the surrounding nature.”

Onstage, Schultz told the story of his life, and how he got to where he is now.

Schultz had a successful career in architecture. Then, in 2008, the recession hit. His marriage was on the rocks. Despite having years of experience, he was unable to secure another job in that field.

“I went overnight from this guy that had tons of experience that any company would love to have, to ‘Well, what’s wrong with this guy?’” Schultz explains. “And suddenly I felt like my career was over.”

“After an eviction, I moved in with my elderly mother so we could help each other,” Schultz explained onstage. “For a blessed moment, the shipwreck that my life was becoming found a dock in a safe harbor with mom.”

He began working in a warehouse, and then driving a forklift in a chemical plant.

“Things were looking up,” he said.

But then tragedy struck once again.

“After about two years, my mom passed away unexpectedly,” he said.

Schultz was left to clear up her financial matters.

“I found out that I was missing the signs of her mental health declining when I was going through her affairs and found out that her house was about to enter foreclosure,” he says. “She’d write checks to her charities religiously, but the mortgage not so much.”

Since then, Schultz has been sleeping on the streets for two years.

“Sleeping in public is a crime in Winston-Salem,” Schultz says, sitting on the park steps next to Hope. “I didn’t know that until I got a ticket one morning. There was a bench that had some shelter from the rain, and I stayed there for three weeks.”

One morning when he woke up, he said, an officer asked to see his ID.

Schultz thought the officer was just checking to make sure he didn’t have any warrants or anything, but he came back with a ticket for sleeping in public and trespassing.

“He made the comment, ‘If you’re not causing any trouble, you’re not bothering anybody, you really need to be out of sight, out of mind.’ And after that I’m looking around, I’m saying, ‘Well, any place where I’m out of sight, out of mind, I’m not feeling safe,’” he says.

“If I didn’t have Hope, I would’ve been worried about getting jumped at night or robbed, or someone will steal my shoes to buy a hit of crack. I mean, that stuff happens,” he adds.

On top of the physical dangers of living on the streets is the mental burden.

“Living on the streets is hard and it weighs on you, and anybody that is unhoused has some form of mental illness, if you will,” Schulz says. “If nothing else depression, from the situation you’re in. Any time that I start feeling really down, and maybe….”

Schultz trails off and takes a pause as he fights back against a wave of emotion.

“There have been times when I’ve wondered if I should just give up,” he continues. “But I couldn’t do that to Hope. She’s kept me strong… and I think she helps people see me as a person, too, because they see her before they see me.”

Life on the street has been tough, but some windows have opened up. Schulz says that people have given him dog food and he’s been able to keep her shots up to date. One kind person even paid to have her microchipped. Someone helped pay for her spay surgery and service-dog training, too.

He hopes that by sharing his story, more people come to have empathy and understanding for people like him who are unhoused.

“I hope I gave my words — my story — life,” he says of his performance at the Dwelling. Schultz says people thanked him for “having the courage to get up there and say my piece, tell my story.”

He hopes that sharing his story will fight preconceived notions about those who are struggling like him.

“I think people think that us that are unhoused are lazy, alcoholics or on drugs, just don’t want to work, just want to get handouts and to get high,” he says. “And that’s really not the case at all.”

“My name is Ron, and I’m Hope’s dad,” Schultz says as he looks out toward the city’s skyline.

“I’m a human, just like you.”

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