I first met Freddy Perry in the winter of 2004. He was living in a crane truck parked in a lot on St. Clair Avenue in Cleveland, Ohio. The man who owned the truck was a friend of mine and had given Freddy permission to spend that cold winter there. When my friend then told me about Freddy, I knew I wanted to capture a small bit of his life on camera.

Freddy was enthusiastic and cooperative about my project, arriving every morning on time, happy to share the details of his life with me. There was never an awkward moment as he escorted me around town, showing me the various places he had slept and had spent the countless hours of his days. I couldn't help but think that in spite of the misfortunes of his childhood, and there were many, he had managed to hold on to the kind heart he must surely have been born with. He treated me with gentleness and respect, and I was touched by his sweetness.

I was amazed to discover hidden worlds under the bridges I had traveled over many times. There were mattresses tucked away under the concrete and sheets hanging from steel beams, providing a modicum of privacy. There were large garbage bags filled with the possessions of the faceless, homeless people who lived there. People nesting, creating, what to most of us would seem uninhabitable, spaces that were strangely cozy. ; He also took me to the homeless shelter, where he had many friends, but where he had not felt safe.

Freddy did not complain or feel self-pity. He was observant and accepting. He was neither happy nor sad. He was in a holding pattern, perhaps waiting for his life to change but I suspect not feeling as though he had the power to change it.

I have lost touch with Freddy, and I do not know where he is or what he does. The last time I saw him I gave him a copy of the short film I had made. He assured me that he had a place to watch it. Hopefully, wherever that was, it was warm and safe and a place he could call home at least for a time.

- Marilyn Sadler