Unhoused Activists Mourn One Of Their Own

Kaysie Mire felt scared, alone and lost the first time she visited a homelessness drop-in center — until Keith Petrulis, who’d been without housing for two years, took it upon himself to tell Mire, ​“Hey, you’re okay.” He showed her around the space, offered her some snacks, and introduced her to her future boyfriend.

Eight months later, Mire and her partner have secured an apartment and are expecting a child together — while their best friend, Petrulis, is now dead, after his body was found on the State Street sidewalk where he’d been sleeping for the last two weeks.

Stories about Petrulis’ generosity, gentleness, and commitment to community filled the Downtown Evening Soup Kitchen’s (DESK) 266 State St. drop-in center Wednesday morning during the latest meeting of the Unhoused Activists Community Team (U‑ACT). That’s the grassroots organizing group of which the late 36-year-old was a founding member and outspoken advocate for the homeless.

Around a dozen activists, about half of whom are without housing themselves, meet weekly inside DESK to strategize ways to protect and stand up for a growing number of people experiencing homelessness within New Haven. That usually means organizing protests to call for public bathrooms and showers, or working to relocate individuals displaced by city or state crackdowns on homeless encampments, or preparing testimonies for legislative hearings on housing rights.

On Wednesday, it meant talking about how to arrange funeral and cremation services for a core member who often led those undertakings, after he was discovered dead outside their meeting place just two days before (read more about that here). It also meant talking about what Keith Petrulis’ life meant to them — and what his leadership meant to a community of people struggling disproportionately with loneliness and loss. 

“When people first become homeless, a lot of times they isolate themselves,” Mire said, recalling how nervous she was to walk into a homelessness day program to seek services after having lived alone in a West Haven storage unit. ​“Keith was my first friend,” she said. ​“He was there day one and made sure to show me the ropes so I wasn’t stumbling and confused. Because that’s how it works: Homeless people have to learn from other homeless people about figuring out the system.”

“I had the utmost respect for Keith, for organizing, for fighting for his rights, and for fighting for the rights of everybody who is unhoused,” Norm Clement, a local activist who also works at DESK, said following a moment of silence for Petrulis. ​“He was a good friend to most of the people here. He was always gentle speaking and I never saw him get angry — and that takes a lot considering the emotions people go through out here just trying to survive. It’s stressful as hell.”

“Keith was my best friend,” Tyrell Jackson, Mire’s boyfriend, stated. ​“He had a lot of dreams and a lot of aspirations. He had a lot of issues and personal problems. I already miss my best friend, and now I gotta bury my best friend because he didn’t have any close family.”

Jackson said he met Petrulis years back when they both first lost housing around the onset of the pandemic. Petrulis, he said, was originally from New Haven and lived with his mother until she passed away a few years ago. ​“He didn’t wanna be in the house she died in anymore,” Jackson recalled, noting that Petrulis was open about his long-term struggles with mental health, ​“and that was the start of his homeless journey.” 

The pair both had a hard time connecting with people around them, Jackson said, ​“but we could deal with each other better than with everyone else. Where I was small and docile, he was big, loud and abrasive.”

While Jackson lived in a communal encampment off Ella Grasso Boulevard until the city bulldozed the site last spring, Petrulis opted to spend his nights alone, sleeping mostly in the same concrete doorway that he softened with carpets and sleeping bags. 

Still, those living without housing remembered Petrulis as one of the most socially considerate people in their circles. ​“Every time a new person walked into the unhoused community he took it upon himself to be the liaison,” Jackson said, making introductions, connecting people to the right resources, and inviting them into U‑ACT to fight for their rights. Petrulis, for example, was the first to connect Mire and Jackson — who have now been together for half a year and are expecting a child.

Jackson and Petrulis both joined U‑ACT upon its launch back in September, and found organizing on behalf of a community an empowering and purposeful way to pass days otherwise spent trying to survive and scrape by. Together they spoke at press conferences, mayoral debates, aldermanic meetings, state legislative hearings and protests. 

That work aligned with ostensible progress in their personal lives. Jackson has found a new job working as a homelessness organizer and reporter with the New Haven Housing Fund, Mire discovered she was pregnant weeks ago, and the pair have since been able to secure housing vouchers and sign a lease for a new apartment. Petrulis had recently told members of U‑ACT that he had finally made it to the top of a housing voucher waitlist, and was perhaps just weeks away from securing a rental subsidy he’d been anticipating for years. 

But more immediately, Petrulis was, according to U‑ACT members, kicked off of the curb where he usually spent his nights and admitted to the hospital for a variety of health issues.

Billy Bromage, a lead organizer for U‑ACT, said that Petrulis spent two weeks sleeping outside DESK after he was forced off the nearby downtown block he had previously called home. ​“He was crying, I’d never seen that,” Bromage recalled of the moment when Petrulis packed his things and relocated outside the soup kitchen, noting how others’ treatment affected his usually stoic demeanor. ​“It seemed like he really felt the indignity of being treated in a subhuman way, and it really broke his heart that day.”

U‑ACT set aside some funds to put Petrulis up in a hotel for a few nights while he dealt with his deteriorating health. But when Bromage heard that a body had been found outside DESK, his heart sunk when he immediately realized it must be Petrulis.

Police Chief Karl Jacobson has ordered an autopsy and told the Independent his death was likely due to a medical issue, as those close to Petrulis have also suspected. A toxicology report is underway, but could take up to six months to process.

In the meantime, Jackson said he has been speaking with a number of local funeral homes, signing papers to become Petrulis’ legal next of kin, and looking into cremation services. Mire has been searching for artists to create a portrait of Petrulis to hang on the wall inside DESK. U‑ACT member Briam Timko created this fund where the public can contribute to ensuing expenses.

Mire said she found out Petrulis had died the same day an ultrasound found her child would be born a boy. She and Jackson have agreed their kid’s middle name will be ​“Keith.”

Jackson reflected that he has lost a number of friends without housing in recent months, as people living through poverty deal with substance disorders, medical strife, and unsafe conditions. However, Petrulis’ death, in particular, should not be interpreted as further reason to fall into despair, according to Jackson. Rather, it’s motivation to practice what Petrulis preached: To look out for one’s neighbors, especially those without as much as a roof over their head.

“When everyday you wake up not knowing what you’re gonna eat or how to stay dry, it’s easy to get complacent and give up. When you stop just surviving and start living for a purpose outside yourself, it’s easier to find joy,” Jackson said. ​“Organizing with U‑ACT gave Keith something to live for.”