Seven blocks from Downtown Oakland the Interstate Highway 880 overpass hums with the dull roar of traffic as evening commuters head home amid the rush hour crunch. It’s only a quarter past six but the sun is already setting and the orange glow of its descent reflects off of the buildings.
The prospect of staying out after dark in a city notorious for gang violence and inner-city crime is daunting. Most people on the street appear to be hurrying to their destinations: the subway, the corner restaurant for dinner, into their apartment, anywhere presumably indoors.
Life remains, however, underneath the overpass.
The Salvation Army is directly across the street from the east side of the overpass and it too has closed its doors for the night. Across the street the underpass is fenced off, but a portion of it has been bent down where people have forced it into an entrance. Ivy drapes the fence and creeps up the cement of the freeway structure in some parts. On the bent portion of the fence the vines act almost as a cushion to the rough metal.
The silhouette of a small coffee table with a chair can be seen against the backdrop of the red taillights as commuters drive by. Maybe ten feet inside the fence; a pile of books lies on top of it. A large support beam that keeps the freeway elevated also serves as a partition from this coffee table and the “home” on the other side.
A bed, a desk, and clothing
Felix C. Williamson, better known in the neighborhood as The Professor, sits in a comfy chair in front of his desk. A burgundy sweater covers his collared shirt and red and brown tie. He face is clean shaven and a nice pair of reading glasses rest on the tip of his nose.
His eyes are focused on a blank sheet of paper and a pen is in his hand. A small portable radio, barely audible over the rumble of passing cars is tuned into talk radio. Beside him is a current issue of The New York Times and resting on a small table to his right is a mostly filled bottle of Maker’s Mark whiskey.
The Professor has lived underneath the overpass for the past five months after he was evicted from his apartment. And he’s brought his home with him. Piles of books crowd the edges of his desk: works by Jean Paul Sartre, a collection of stories by African American writers, and three dictionaries to name a few.
A comb, toothbrush, trimming scissors and other cosmetics sit in a cup on the same table as his whisky.
Williamson, 74, is by no means what one would expect to find living underneath a freeway, that much can be gathered from just looking at him. When “The Professor” speaks, however, it becomes all the more perplexing.
“The only problem I have is maintaining some sort of order around here.” Williamson said one night while looking through his books for a particular volume. “I have to concern myself with my own existence.”
The noise of traffic is deafening at first, but gradually the sounds of engines and car horns fades into background noise, an ambiance Williamson says, “you learn to ignore.”
“The Professor is not the first one to live out there,” Craig Woodworth said, a member of a local evangelist church that drives around Oakland every other Friday night to feed and pray with the homeless. “They are just 100 yards from help, it frustrates me.”
Woodworth is referring to the shelters at the Salvation Army that are just across the street from the underpass.
“He’ll talk about things in the past, but he doesn’t get to the heart. It’s essentially small talk.” Woodworth said of his many conversations with Williamson.
The Professor sits in his chair and slowly sips glass after glass of whiskey, his eyes concentrate on his work. Williamson spends his days reading and writing and on the weekends a local sheriff drives him up to San Quentin Prison where he ministers to the families of convicts.
What he does there is not certain, only that it is some form of counseling. Williamson refused to go into detail about why he goes to San Quentin, saying, “Look, I just don’t want to get into it.”
Visitors
Regeneration Church is located just four blocks south of Lake Merritt and roughly a half mile from where The Professor rests his head. Every other Friday night, members of this new-age evangelical church perform Crosstreets, a modern form of missionary work typically seen in third world countries.
“The first step is trying to get them to go to breakfast,” Woodworth said about the purpose of Regeneration’s street ministry. “A lot of them [the homeless] will say, ‘Oh, I’m fine.’ But I tell them, ‘What do you mean you’re fine? You’re living under the freeway.’”
Sunday mornings at Regeneration are hectic, a crowd of homeless people sit in a gymnasium rented out to the church. They sit around portable tables and church members talk to them about Jesus, getting into treatment programs for substance abuse, and encouraging them to join in the church service that is held shortly after breakfast ends.
Woodworth said that Williamson used to show up for Sunday mornings, but stopped about two months ago.
Origins
Williamson’s nickname is not undeserved; The Professor graduated from Morehouse University, an historically all male black college in Atlanta, Ga. He later went on to earn a graduate degree in theology from the Graduate Theological Union in Berkeley, Calif. where he later worked as a lecturer for five years.
“I was extremely fortunate to have both parents graduate college, being a Negro born in 1935” Williamson said. “I was always around books.”
Williamson’s vocabulary reads from a dictionary, he speaks in a wandering train of thought however.
“The fortunate part of my life, aside from being born from my parents, has been moving around this thing called the planet Earth.” Williamson said.
The Professor says he was born in Harlem, N.Y. in 1935. His father attended college at Howard University in Washington and his mother attended a Presbyterian College in New Guinea, Africa.
Deep in Thought
Williamson’s bottle of whisky now has a substantial dent in it, his speech comes much slower, but doesn’t slur.
“I write about a myriad of things,” he explains. “From does God exist, to who gives a damn? It would take me too long right now to explore the depths of my mind.”
Williamson’s cleanliness is thanks in large part to nearby Catholic Charities which lets him shower there every morning. He also maintains a locker there to store some of his more important possessions.
His desk, his bed, and his books are left largely untouched by the other homeless people that live in the surrounding area.
“Books they aren’t interested in,” Williamson chuckles.
Quick Information on The Professor
Felix Christopher Williamson
Age: 74
DOB: Feb. 1, 1935
Place of Birth: Harlem N.Y.
Education: Morehouse University. Atlanta, Ga.
Graduate Theological Union, GTU, Berkeley, Calif.
Residence: Underneath the I-880 freeway at Franklin and 6th St. in Oakland.
Such good stuff in here.
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