2023-10-28 08:02:37
Thursday, 22 h 15. The manager of the Travel Inn left his television set and came out of his office into the night, looking at us in surprise. ” Yes? » We were looking for a place to sleep after a long day of work, and this motel, typical of the 60s, a stone’s throw from the killings, could have done the trick. We were exhausted.
We no longer rent rooms to tourists, replied James Wilson, who has managed the motel for 15 years. He looked genuinely sorry.
For years, we have only rented for long stays. Here, people are struggling. A room costs $250 per month: an unbeatable price in the area. We have a lot of requests. People are having difficulty finding affordable apartments.
Life is tough in Lewiston. Far from postcard Maine. No lobster cages, craft breweries or trendy boutiques. Luxury cars drive straight to Portland without stopping. Here, the roadside landscape is punctuated with dilapidated cars, abandoned to their fate, rusting in the motel parking lots where despair resides.
As long as he bothered to open up to us, Wilson took the opportunity to send us a message.
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James Wilson is the owner of the Travel Inn.
Photo : Radio-Canada / Ivanoh Demers
There are hundreds of journalists here, but no one seems to understand the real problem. In Maine, no one takes care of crazy people! We do not provide services to people who have mental health problems. If you want to understand how such a tragedy is possible in our small community, it is essential to talk about it.
The manager of the Travel Inn told us where to find a hotel for the night on Thursday, but invited us to come back the next morning. Simply, to discuss mental health with its residents.
The gunman suspected of killing 18 people in shootings in Lewiston, Maine, has been found dead. Read the full article here.
Friday, 10 h. Behind every door there is a tragedy, a flayed person, but it doesn’t matter, no one cares, Wilson tells us, in the golden light of this hot October day.
Mental health is not managed here. Take my nephew, a few years ago he dismembered his brother. He thought he was the Terminator. He was schizophrenic, but the hospital had sent him home shortly before it cut his little brother into pieces.
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From left to right: Sayra Byras, Jamie Bennett, Amber Macarthur and her partner.
Photo : Radio-Canada / Ivanoh Demers
At 109, Amber McCarther, 20, and her boyfriend are preparing to leave the small room where they have been living for months. Amber suffers from generalized anxiety and doesn’t work. Her fiancé makes bicycle deliveries to make ends meet. The two young lovers met as children at the soup kitchen in Brunswick, a neighboring town.
We played together while the adults ate. Our two mothers were homeless when we were little, recalls Amber, looking at her boyfriend with tenderness.
Amber calls out to her mother who has come to help her pack her things. Mom, when did we live in your car again? His mother, Jamie Bennett, 40, reflects. When you were very little, my baby, she responds tenderly to her adult daughter who today lugs her boxes and her two cats from one motel to another.
Jamie is afraid to be in Lewiston. I ask him if it’s because of the killer on the loose. Yes. I don’t like to imagine that he’s not far away, but it’s not just that. It’s dangerous around here. There are a lot of drugs. Crack, needles, fentanyl. It comes with thefts, assaults.
“It’s tough around here,” she says.
Jamie Bennett is not surprised by the drama that took place a few kilometers from the motel last Wednesday evening. I’ve been on a waiting list to see a psychiatrist for two and a half years, she tells me. I often want to kill myself. I have experienced traumatic events that haunt me. I’m not well, but no one is helping me.
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Animals are tolerated at the Travel Inn, including the dog Jet, kept here by Sayra Byras.
Photo : Radio-Canada / Ivanoh Demers
Sayra Byras, 25, who lives at 112, listens to our conversation. She can’t help but react. They don’t care about people like us and they hope we don’t go crazy, that we won’t hurt anyone! I ask the bright young woman, who lives with her dog Jet and her two young children in the motel room, who she is talking about when she says: They.
Well! The State of Maine and the Federal Government! When you’re poor here, you’re really in trouble, no one helps you, she said, looking me straight in the eyes.
It comes up like a litany among the neighbors of the Travel Inn. Alone, abandoned to their poverty, to their mental health problems. But, here, the neighbors fill this solitude. They give each other affection, hug each other often.
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Burt Brown, aka Ash, has lived at the Travel Inn for 4 or 5 years.
Photo : Radio-Canada / Ivanoh Demers
At 110, Burt Brown, 45, tells us with a smile that he is feeling better, a little. A doctor prescribed him pills that help with his depression. He’s a little sad though, because he had to give up around fifteen cats. He was 22 a few weeks ago. He only has four left today.
Burt repeats the same words to me as the others: No, ma’am. No help. No. No help for crazy people.
The night of the shooting, Burt was working at the car wash not far from the bowling alley where the shooter opened fire. That evening, I had a blast. One of the first things I said to myself was that it was only a matter of time before someone seriously slipped up. It’s sad when you think about it. We could have avoided this.
After a while, Sayra decides to retire to her room. She squeezes my hand. Thanks for stopping by. It feels good to talk about it. No one ever listens to us.
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Moment of joy between tenants.
Photo : Radio-Canada / Ivanoh Demers
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