On the streets of Cape Coral, Bruce Albaugh walks with purpose. He isn’t just passing through. He’s searching for people, for stories, for hope.
Albaugh once called the inside of a van his home. He nearly lost everything, except his will to keep going.
“The guy asked, ‘Where are you living?’ I told a fib. He said, ‘I can’t hire someone in a hotel.’ I told him, ‘Let me work for a week, and if you don’t like it, you don’t have to pay me.’ That saved me,” Albaugh said.
That moment was a turning point. Now, he spends his days trying to give others that same chance. He goes into homeless camps, onto sidewalks and into lives often overlooked. Sometimes he brings a few dollars, other times only his time. For Albaugh, it’s not charity, it’s connection.
“Give them jobs. Daily pay. They could help city workers with trash pick-up,” he said.
Albaugh’s vision is simple: not just handouts, but opportunities to work and reclaim dignity.
The Lee County Homeless Coalition sees the same struggles. They’ve watched teachers sleep in cars and read names at vigils, too many names.
“Not long ago, we had a single mom who was living out in her car with her daughter. She would bring her daughter to school in the morning, then she would go off and teach in the Lee County School District, but they were living in their vehicle,” said Michael Overway, the coalition’s executive director.
The need is growing, especially among men, the sick and the silent.
AJ has lived on sidewalks for 15 years, carrying a guitar on his shoulder while navigating life with epilepsy.
“I’m epileptic, but I can’t take my meds. They make me sleep. And I can’t sleep out here,” said AJ.
He credits a police officer with keeping him out of jail.
“He saw me with the guitar and said, ‘You can do that all day, all night long, get paid and we won’t touch you.’ Eight years jail free.”
And then there’s Lester, who was born deaf. For him, communication isn’t a luxury; it’s a lifeline. Technology like smart glasses could restore his voice and help him reconnect.
“In 2023, we read 13 names at our candlelight vigil. This year? Forty-three. The courthouse steps were full. These are real people. That’s not acceptable in any community,” Overway said.
Albaugh doesn’t just see the numbers; he sees the names. He shares his ideas wherever he can, not with anger but with hope.
“People could come from up north, put the RVs in there. They could walk downtown. Look at the money they’re gonna spend in all them restaurants and stuff downtown. That’s only like three blocks away,” Albaugh said.
From AJ’s rhythm to Lester’s resilience to Albaugh’s unrelenting hope, these are not just stories of homelessness but of survival and strength.
“You know, one of the things that we don’t have a shortage of in southwest Florida is good Samaritans. Part of the strength of the continuum is the fact that it has an open-door policy to all voices in the continuum. We want to hear from people,” Overway said.
Resiliency isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s just a man with worn shoes, walking the streets, searching for someone to believe in the same way someone once believed in him.