Biography:
Ash Adams is a photojournalist and documentary photographer based in Anchorage, Alaska and San Francisco, CA, who works primarily for national and international media. Adams' work has been featured in The New York Times, The New Yorker,...
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Tina Cramer Showers holds a headscarf she was given when she began chemo. Showers, a veteran, has survived two different kinds of cancer. Showers raises her 9-year-old grandson, Brighton, at her home in Anchorage, Alaska.
A wall in Tina Cramer Showers' home in Anchorage, Alaska. Showers comes from a family of veterans; she counts 27 members of her family have served, but she suspects that there are more. "I have more to add up here," she says.
MIcki Millecam, 31, outside of her home in Soldotna, Alaska. Millecam and her husband, both veterans, live in Soldotna and raise their two children, Mariah and Tucker.
Elaine Williams stands outside of Shiloh MIssionary Baptist Church, where she volunteers her time regularly. As a veteran with security experience, she works regularly as the security surveillance, but also has taught children's ministry and sings. "Anytime they ask me, 'Elaine, do you think you can do this or do that?' I'm always like, 'Sure, sure, I can.'"
Joe Federmann, 71, sits at the bar at VFW Post 9981 on football night. Federmann moved with his family to Alaska after he returned from serving in the Vietnam war. He says that there are a lot of reasons he's stayed in Alaska; he finds being in nature peaceful and loves the fishing and large community of veterans.
Tim Kelly (left), and Tim Campbell (right), both veterans, visit with friends at the American Legion Jack Henry Post 1 in Anchorage, Alaska. Kelly served in the U.S. Army for 20 years. Campbell served in the navy for 3 years. Campbell says that he's lived for 60 years in Alaska. "I"ve had a lot more opportunities here than in other places," he says.
Richard Crook displays two of his tatoos; his wife of almost 48 years on his right arm, and a bald eagle on his left. Crook, who served in the navy for 6 years, is currently the chaplain for the American Legion Riders in Anchorage, Alaska. He says that the community of friends he sees reguarly, like on nights like tonight at the American Legion Jack Henry Post 1, are like family to him. "These are the best people you'd ever want to be associated with," he says.
 Woody Quackenbush, 72, is an army veteran and a member of the American Legion Riders in Alaska. He also volunteers with the Alaska Veterans Mental Health Wellness Council. 'Everybody who is on the council on the board is either a present or past consumer," he says. He says that as a volunteer, he is able to connect with other veterans in a way that other agencies can't. "There's a lot of vets that will not step inside the V.A. clinic at all--refuse to, no matter what's wrong with them," he says. "One of the things we keep on trying to do is reassure them that we are there, we are a consumer, and try to steer them in there, because they won't even talk to them [at the VA]. Now, they'll talk to one of us on the board because they know that we don't have anything to do with government or anything to do with V.A. We are separate from them."
Richard Crook served in the navy for 6 years, is currently the chaplain for the American Legion Riders in Anchorage, Alaska. He says that the community of friends he sees reguarly, like on nights like tonight at the American Legion Jack Henry Post 1, are like family to him. "These are the best people you'd ever want to be associated with," he says.
Members of the American Legion Riders (from left to right: Mark Berg, Tylor Wilson, Richard Crook, Charlie Brown, and Woody Quackenbush) hang out at the American Legion Jack Henry Post 1 in Anchorage, Alaska. "We're like a family," Berg, who is also the state director of the American Legion Riders, says. "This is a place you can go where no one will ask you how many people you shot."
Tim Campbell served in the navy for 3 years. Campbell says that he's lived for 60 years in Alaska. "I"ve had a lot more opportunities here than in other places," he says.
The Sunday service at the Congregational Christian Church of American Samoa in Alaska on Mountain View Drive lets out.
The northeast Anchorage neighborhood of Mountain View is the most diverse in the nation by census information according to some sociologists, but while the area is rich with culture, according to the last census 19% of households are living below the poverty line. As with most areas experiencing poverty, Mountain View experiences more crime than more affluent neighborhoods in the city.
The ice cream truck is a regular character in the neighborhood of Mountain View. During the warmer months, its tinny songs an be heard making rounds throughout the afternoon and into the evening.Â
Omima Adam steps outside of her truck Sultan Shawarma in Mountain View. Serving homemade falafel, kebabs, shawarma and other savory delights, the truck has already accrued a following in its first 6 months of operation. Adam says she didn’t plan on this—she was a civil engineer in her previous home of Sudan. But when the opportunity arose, she and her husband decided to jump on it. She says she likes Mountain View. “You can make a good living here, and this is good work.â€
Children playing in Mountain View. The northeast Anchorage neighborhood of Mountain View has been recently named the most diverse in the nation by census information, but while the area is rich with culture, according to the last census 19% of households are living below the poverty line. As with most areas experiencing poverty, Mountain View experiences more crime than more affluent neighborhoods in the city.
The nightly volley ball game at the Congregational Christian Church of American Samoa in Alaska on Mountain View Drive. "It's good for the community to keep the kids busy out here," says Jerome, one of the attendees.Â
Nick Carltkoff, whose family is from the Dillingham area of Alaska, displays his switch blade and jokes that although he can't always spell his Eskimo name, it means "warrior." Carltkoff lives in Mountain View and works as a construction worker.
Theresa Tunley grills food for her family on a warm night in the neighborhood of Mountain View in Anchorage, AK. “If you look on my birth certificate, it says Hoyt Street,†she says. “I’ve lived here my whole life. People talk about the crime here, but I love it--I wouldn’t live anywhere else.â€
Abigail Evon, originally from Bethel, Alaska, smokes a cigarette outside of her home in Mountain View. “I hate Mountain View,†she says. “Too much shooting, too much violence.†Evon lived in Mountain View for most of the 1990’s, but she and her family left in 1998 when she says the neighborhood had become too violent. She moved back a year ago when she says she needed to get out of an unhealthy living situation. "I needed a place, and the first place that became available that I could afford was in Mountain View."
Alofa Lolo (second to right) sits outside with her children, nieces, and nephews in Mountain View. Lolo came to Alaska from Samoa, and has eight children who have all been born in the U.S.. Her oldest, Nicole Lolo (right), 18, is disabled, and her youngest will be 3 this month. “I sit outside with the children because of the cars,†she says. “They drive by so fast and do not see the children.â€
Ioaue Lotu comforts his grandson Lima Tapeni after the 2-year-old took a tumble on his scooter. Lotu moved from Samoa to Anchorage in 2012 for open heart surgery, and now lives with his children and grandchildren in Mountain View. According to his daughter, Alofa Lolo, he is the favorite among the grandchildren. “Nobody makes things better like Grandpa,†she says.
Heidi Ross stands in the kitchen of her room at a transitional housing facility in Anchorage where she has lived for the past three months. She just moved into a single room the night before and is excited to have the space but especially becuase she will now be able to have overnight visits from her 7-year-old son. Ross was trafficked at a young age and then eventually ran her own trafficking business, but after almost 2 decades and 36 arrests, she says she's done, changing her name, and going to school, ready to start a new life with her 7-year-old son. She loves to cook, she says, and intends to finish a culinary degree.
"I've never had a tattoo done professionally," Heidi Ross says. They were all done on the streets or in prison, she explains. This one, which reads "For the Love of It" with two money symbols, was done partially on the street and partially in prison. It references both the love of money but also the love of life as a sex worker. Ross got the first part of the tattoo when she was 24 and running her own escort service, and then the dollar signs while in prison. Ross was trafficked at a young age and then eventually ran her own trafficking business, but after almost 2 decades and 36 arrests, she says she's done, changing her name, and going to school, ready to start a new life with her 7-year-old son.
Josh Louwerse, youth engagement program coordinator of Covenant House in Anchorage, stands outside of Covenant House in downtown Anchorage. "We're extra vulnerable to [sex-trafficking] in Alaska for the same reasons we are vulnerable in other areas. We have historical trauma, we top the country in suicide, physical abuse, sexual abuse, and the same reasons we are vulnerable to all of those problems are the same reasons we are a vulnerable state for trafficking," Lowerse says. "We also have transient male-dominated industries--millitary, oil, fishing, tourism, there'a lot of trnasient folks here. And then take those factors and put them together in rural areas, and that makes up much of our state." Lowerse, a former youth pastor, says that he didn't intend to work neccessarily on helping victims of human trafficking, but rather that he just felt called to help at-risk kids. But as it has become more clear that human trafficking is an issue in Alaska, he says, "we have to do something about it."
Michael Charles, 39, and Gabriella Tinker, 23, stand together outside of Brother Francis Shelter. Tinker has been homeless since she was a teenager. Charles came up to Alaska from California recently to work in commercial fishing, and stayed after the season ended. Charles says he is now looking for work. The couple say they were married a few months ago but have never had a photograph made of them together.
 Carl, 28, holds a sign on a corner in Anchorage on the morning December 14, 2016, when the temperature remained in single digits. Carl has been homeless for most of his life. According to him, his 20th anniversary of being homeless is coming up next month, shortly after his birthday. He says physically, the hardest part about being homeless in Anchorage is the frostbite; he typically suffers 5 bouts of frostbite each winter, and is presently suffering his second bout this season. He says he's gotten into cycles in the past of going to jail just to stay warm, which has now made getting work difficult. "I have 29 misdemeanor thefts, so nobody is going to hire me. So I'm looking for work, but when [employers] get to the computer part, they literally laugh at me and tell me to get out of their store," Carl says. "I'm not going to lie to nobody; I'm just waiting to die now." Emotionally, he says homelessness is very difficult in Anchorage. He says people have spit on him, hit him with rocks, and often treat him like he is not even human. "I gave up a long time ago," he says. He has two children, ages 8 and 12, but says he doesn't see them. "I make sure they don't see me," he says.
Carl, 28, holds a sign on a corner in Anchorage on the morning December 14, 2016, when the temperature remained in single digits. Carl has been homeless for most of his life. According to him, his 20th anniversary of being homeless is coming up next month, shortly after his birthday. He says physically, the hardest part about being homeless in Anchorage is the frostbite; he typically suffers 5 bouts of frostbite each winter, and is presently suffering his second bout this season.
Steve Moses and Marie Nickolai sit on a mattress in Bean's Cafe, a soup kitchen which also serves as one of the men's overflow shelters in Anchorage when the shelter across the parking lot, Brother Francis Shelter, is full. Marie's half-brother, Jackie Amaktoolik, who was also homeless, died earlier that day in the parking lot. Due to the special circumstances, Bean's Cafe allowed Marie to stay the night on a mattress separated from the men's. Before lights out, however, Steven and Marie are kicked out of the shelter for drinking.
Marie Nickolai sobs while her husband, Steven Moses tells Nickolai's other brother that their half-brother died earlier that day. " I just couldn't call him," she says.
JD Hoskins, 58, makes his bed for the night at Bean's Cafe, a soup kitchen that serves also as a men's overflow homeless shelter in Anchorage. JD has been volunteering at the cafe to make sure that he has a bed for the night, and hopes to work towards self-sufficiency.
Shara Summers, 32, sits on her bed in the women's dormitory in Brother Francis Shelter in Anchorage. Summers says she has been homeless for most of her life.
Art Helms, 56, stands outside of Bean's Cafe, the soup kitchen across from Brother Francis Shelter in Anchorage, Alaska. Helms has been homeless for about a year and four months, and says this is the first time in his life he's been homeless. Helms, who says he used to work in the oil field and other laborer jobs, says he is trying to get disability status after an injury that happened years ago has made it difficult to work. For now, he volunteers at Bean's Cafe to make sure that he has a bed every night.
A man walks towards Bean's Cafe and Brother Francis Shelter in Anchorage, Alaska. The city has experienced temperatures in single digits for the past week.
"Rabt" has been collecting jewelry from trash since he was 7 yeras old, he says. He wears many different pieces around his neck and carries a variety of jewels with him in his pockets and wallet.
"Rabt" in Bean's Cafe in Anchorage, says his name came from "up there." Rabt has been homeless for many years. When he isn't staying in the cafe, he says he lives in a camp down the street.
People wait in the nightly line to get into Brother Francis Shelter, the largest homeless shelter in Anchorage, which accepts over 200 people every night. Beds are limited, however, and on some nights dozens of people are turned away. Some will be able to get into one of the overflow shelters, while many others will have to find shelter on the street.
Nancy Burke, Homeless and Housing Coordinator in Anchorage, provides instruction to volunteers for the homeless count in Anchorage at 4:00AM. Approximately 160 volunteers, most from the Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson millitary facility, gathered at the church in the wee hours of the morning to participate in the count. Volunteers were placed into groups with assigned parts of the city and a group leader.
Senior Airman Jacob Bonter walks towards what looks like a homeless camp to take a closer look, calling out into the trees to see if anyone responds. "We want to respect that we are walking into people's homes in the middle of the night," Bonter's group leader, Monica Stoesser, had stressed to the group before they headed out. Volunteers were instructed to give plenty of warning before approaching sites, and to respect when people declined to answer questions. All sites were given small care packages regardless of whether they responded or agreed to answer questions to contribute to the count's data. Approximately 160 volunteers, most from the Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson millitary facility, gathered participated in the homeless count.Â
Two Senior Airmen from Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson millitary facility, Anton Rozvodovskiy (left) and Carlos Vasquez (right), investigate tracks in the snow during the homeless count in Anchorage in the early morning hours. Volunteers were instructed to give plenty of warning before approaching homeless sites, and to respect when people declined to answer questions. All sites were given small care packages regardless of whether they responded or agreed to answer questions to contribute to the count's data. Approximately 160 volunteers, most from the Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson millitary facility, gathered at St. Mary's Episcopal Church in the wee hours of the morning on January 25, 2017 to participate in the homeless count.Â
Vanessa Meade, a veteran who served in the military for 8 years, outside of her office at the University of Alaska Anchorage where she works as a Clinical Assistant Professor in the school of Social Work. Meade has earned a doctorate in Psychology in addition to an MSW and LCSW, and founded the Alaska Veterans Organization for Women. She had grown up in the same town in Iowa as Dick Proenneke, who extensively photographed Alaska, and so from a young age she was fascinated by the state. Meade visited Alaska while in college, and then after finishing graduate school in 1999, she decided to move up. She says there is a lot about Alaska that is appealing as a combat veteran. "Alaska is an edgy place that never lets you forget that you're alive," she says. "A few wrong moves and you're dead in Alaska. So there's that bit of adrenaline rush and presence of mind when you're in a place like this." She says that other things about Alaska resonate with many veterans she's met are political. "We have way more of a focus on individual rights here than most other states, which are things that I've seen a lot of veterans value as well." She says, too, that there's a small-town feel in this big state, which creates a strong community but makes it also easy to isolate. "If you're someone who has some post traumatic stress issues, it's really easy to isolate here, and that's one of the main factors of it is isolation. So there's the other side of that, too."
Andrew Hawk, 52, in his shop in Anchorage, Alaska. Hawk, a gunsmith, works from home along with Jen Jolliffe, an acupuncturist. Both receive healthcare coverage through the ACA and are concerned about what the AHCA for health coverage would mean for them.
One of the walls in Andrew Hawk's gunsmithing shop in Anchorage, Alaska. While he hunts other animals, moose hunting is what he says he does most. Hawk works from home along with his girlfriend Jen Jolliffe, an acupuncturist. Both receive healthcare coverage through the ACA and are concerned about what the AHCA for health coverage would mean for them.
Carl Michael, 54, gestures to the Chugach Mountains from his home in Anchorage, Alaska. "This view is why I live here," he says. Michael says that health insurance is so expensive that he either has to pay for coverage or pay for his mortgage. "It's either healthcare or my house," he says. "I've worked my whole life for this house. I shouldn't have to choose."
Carl Michael, 54, in his home in Anchorage, Alaska. Michael says that health insurance is so expensive that he either has to pay for coverage or pay for his mortgage. "It's either healthcare or my house," he says. "I've worked my whole life for this house. I shouldn't have to choose."Â
Carl Michael, 54, on his street in Anchorage, Alaska. Michael says that health insurance is so expensive that he either has to pay for coverage or pay for his mortgage. "It's either healthcare or my house," he says.
Alaska consistently tops the nation's rates of child abuse, domestic violence, sexual assault, homlessness and substance abuse, and these usually afflict the most vulnerable persons in the state; women, children, the poor, and people of color. Alaska also tops the nation in healthcare costs. This body of work is a growing conversation, comprised primarily of assignment work, both pitched and commissioned, on the state's most vulnerable people. I hope to help to bring awareness to these issues through images through the course of my life as an Alaskan journalist.