HOBO JUNGLE: PUTTTING A FACE ON OUR HOMELESS
by Sheila O’Keefe-McCarthy
My father grew up in the heart of the depression in a little town 90 miles northeast of Toronto. He lived on a hill over looking the railway bed, other wise known as "Hobo Jungle." Even though they didn’t use the politically correct label "the homeless," the stigma and less-than-charitable feelings associated with such communities still prevail.