Ending Homelessness?

I sit on a committee entitled: "The Committee to End Homelessness in Ten Years".  An extreme statement filled with promise, determination and more than a little politically generated prideful boasting.

When first appointed to participate, I thought why would a mayor set a goal that can't possibly be met? Ahh, I get it!  The sitting mayor who formed the context of the committee will be out of office two years on year #10.  Now that's smooth politics Brother.  The next mayor has the dilemma of explaining why homelessness hasn't ended.

Pressed into "voluntary" service, I went to meetings with my usual attitude of attacking problems head-on and focused on what could be accomplished with available resources.
In the three years I've been involved, the committee to end homelessness has accomplished....nothing.  No, I'm not surprised; I'm not even disappointed.  Politically generated groups don't generally accomplish anything save the publicity for the politician who formed the group.

What I've learned working on a multi-agencies committee:
1.  Each agency wants to grow their organization.  They become part of a movement to "network" with the political entity that formed the group to hopefully garner the inside track for grants that would allow for the hiring of additional staff; thereby growing their agency.
2.  Nobody wants to attack the primary problem that initiated the forming of the committee.  To do so and be wrong would cast you and your agency in a politically bad light.
3.  Don't make waves and go with the flow.  I'm not very good at this tenet as evidenced by the poorly disguised distain when I arrive.
4.  Take everything presented with a grain of salt.  You have to ask yourself: "What's in it for him/her?"
5.  If career mobility isn't an overriding concern, ask the straightforward questions.  The pained look on some of the member's faces is worth it.

But seriously, can homelessness ever be ended?  More next time.

I Only Drink Beer in Africa

A huge part of my job and life in general is to be a good example of how a man should live day to day.  One can't counsel and admonish the homeless about poor lifestyle choices when you participate in some of those same choices yourself.
Further, as a Christian, I'm guided by my personal hero, Paul of Tarsus: "Therefore, if food makes my brother stumble, I will never again eat meat, lest I make my brother stumble." 1Cor 8:13.  I extend the "food" issue to include alcohol, drugs, loose women and all the other things that this world offers to put us in jeopardy of loosing our health/wife/immortal soul.
I enjoy a cold beer on a hot day.  God provided all the materials to make beer, even the intelligence to develop refrigeration.  It's all from God!
However, if I'm seen drinking is that a good witness to the men I counsel?  Not really.  Therefore I don't drink...except in Africa.


I've made four mission trips to Africa.  I visit and stay with a friend who has been working with orphans and disadvantaged children in the QuaQua Province of South Africa and across the border in Lesotho.
We usually start early in the morning transporting food and building materials to the villages that have allowed my friend to establish a feeding system for the children.  It's satisfying work and you feel good at the end of the day.
One day on my last trip, my friend and I were heading back home after a hot dusty day in the mountains.  We drove past this small town with a combination food store, cafe and bar all stitched together in what could only be called "rural African late 50s architecture".  The place was standing but that issue could be in doubt if a strong wind blew through.  My friend spots the place, looks at me and says: "Fancy a cold bier?"  "Well", say I "A bier would taste like nectar right now" and laughed.  With that, he wheels the big Rover off the road in hits the brakes, stopping about three feet from a table full of dubious locals.
"What are you doing" I ask, whereupon my friend says: "I'm getting a cold something.  I'm not sure what, but I'm getting something."
We walk in the place, open air accommodations of course, and sit down.  The only white men for miles and all the talking had stopped.  The music continued, but other than the sound of 80s Motown, there wasn't a word spoken.
A large woman walks over and asks for our order.  My friend slips into fluent Sotho and she smiles.  I open my blatantly American mouth and order...a beer.  It just came out.
I rationalized the next few minutes waiting for the woman's return that I was 10,000mi from home.  There was NO WAY a former homeless guy from eastern PA was going to walk into that building.  The doubts and trepidations continued until that cold sweating bottle of "who knows what" beer showed up on the table.  I took a long pull on the bottle (one NEVER drinks from a glass in the hinterlands of Africa) and felt that poorly made combination of God's providence and bounty claw its way down my throat.
It was heaven.

Every city has their homeless characters. Unique people, considering their lot in life. My town is no exception.
Last winter my director was concerned about the death of three homeless people within days within days of a particularly nasty Canadian cold air mass. “We need to talk to those men living under the bridge” he said. “We need to get through to them that it just isn't safe out there.” I asked when we were heading down to the bridge, but he begged off what with the budget planning and all.
I had a pair of boots in the truck along with an emergency bomber hat stashed under the seat. Off to the bridge community I trudged.
The first denizen I met was a guy I called “pirate Jim” because of his voice and inflections when he spoke. Nasty little bugger with a mouth like a Navy lifer. “What do you want a..hole?” “Just some of your time” I said. I asked how the half dozen inhabitants were dealing with the cold and was told to get the f... out of there and to mind my own business. Dealing with homeless pirates is a thankless job.
One guy popped his head out of his donated LL Bean tent and said hello. His name was John; “Cardboard John”. A very soft spoken man of 65 and somewhat thin for his height. I talked to John for some time and learned that he worked for many years at the steel plant and had a family a long time ago. I pointed out that he was probably eligible for some pension benefits and for sure Social Security. And then it began.
John told me the hard times started when the Australian secret service stole his identity when he was on R&R during the Viet Nam conflict. And that he needed to return to Australia and tract down that agent to get his identity papers back. I mentioned that there was the possibility that this “agent” might be dead by now to whit John agreed and hadn't made a serious attempt to return down under.
I continued to engage John in idle conversation, as best one can when talking to a schizophrenic, and suggested he come to the Mission's shelter until the cold snap passed. John replied that the Rescue Mission had burned down ten years ago. I asked him to walk with me out from under the cavernous bridge and after a few minutes, I pointed to a huge building across a busy street and said: “That's the Rescue Mission”. John looked at the building for a few moments, then at me, then back across the street. “Well, I guess it didn't burn down” he uttered under his breath.
John came into the shelter that frigid January day and stayed until the first warm day in March and disappeared. We missed him as we get few quiet, well mannered introspective schizophrenics.
Just before Christmas this year, I was doing data entry in the shelter when a tall, thin bundled-up man stood at the door peering in. “It's open” I called and in walked Cardboard John.
“Been to Australia yet?” I asked. “Naw, that intelligence guy died ten years ago”. “Pick a bunk John” was all I could respond.
*For those outside the mental health field it's helpful to understand that John's delusions and lack of time awareness does not constitute grounds for commitment to a mental health facility. John is not dangerous to himself or others. He eats every day and keeps himself clean. No MH Crisis worker worth his salt would waste three or fours of their lives trying to get the cardboard man committed.

Hello Joe

Interviewing homeless men is rich with anecdotes and stories of life experiences.  One can become jaded after a few years, but every so often you get an intake that's memorable.

Joe showed up at the Mission last week after spending 2 months living on the Appalachian Trail (he's been homeless in one way or another for two years).  The downturn in weather brought him in as the cold temps were becoming more than he could manage in the open-front trail shelters.

Joe is a white male in his late 30s with an engaging smile, excellent communication skills and schizophrenia.  He opened the intake interview with a statement about my apparent loss of weight.  I looked at him and remembered that he had be at the Mission before but I had no idea when.  Joe reminded me that he was with us in 2007 for about two weeks.  He said: "You must have lost 25 lbs...but you look good!".  I agreed that I had lost that exact amount after taking up bicycling.  He also wanted to know if I still rode motorcycles and I told him the long saga of giving up the passion for the open road at 80 MPH after my aging eyes weren't providing the depth perception and peripheral vision needed for sport bike riding.

I asked the standard intake questions about income, jobs, family members and medical issues and he was quite normal with all responses.  When I ventured into the immediate cause of his current homelessness his normal responses took a different turn.  Seems Joe has been followed these last few years by six witches and a warlock.  They follow him everywhere and sabotage his efforts for a normal life.  Asked if these witches were in the area or had followed him here, he answered that he left the Appalachian Trail in the middle of a cloudless night and he was sure it would take them some time to find him.
Probing deeper, I asked if Joe was taking any medication and he shared that he hadn't taken any meds for two years to avoid the feeling of being out of control with his functions.  This is a common complaint with many men taking prescribed psych meds.  The medication helps eliminate the voices but the client feels out of touch with the world around him.  Better to have the voices and actually feel what's going on around them than to be voice-free and numb.

I asked Joe about the "witches" and why they would be following him.  He related that he was a "fallen man" and the witches were a testament to his fallen nature.  Whoa, have some serious work to do here.

Interviewing homeless guys is probably one of the most fascinating parts of my job.  Not to say that I have answers for the myriad of social service problems that surround these men but the rich texture of life experiences gives me pause.  Consider Joe; he remembers things about me that he observed four years ago and is able to discern my appearance and lifestyle while battling inner voices, and to him, physical beings bent on doing him harm.  

We're going to try to have Joe see one of the psychiatrists that align themselves to the Mission to see if there are different meds available to allow him to function without the side effects.  I'm not confident in the outcome.

9/26/11

Gearing up for the cold weather; it's our "busy season".  Many homeless men will forgo an organized shelter during mild weather to be able to use whatever substance they wish, as much as they want, whenever they want.  Shelters put a crimp in one's mood-altering routine.  But with the onset of colder and wetter months, the men will come in.  The winter of 2011/2012 is looking like a potential record season for admissions.  The bed count has not significantly dropped since March.  Running bed counts at 60% capacity during the summer months has never occurred before.  Here's my take:
1.  The number of men entering the shelter after losing their room or apartment has tripled.  These men are the "marginal poor".  They have no financial safety net.  No family.  No friends.  When they're laid off and unemployment benefits lapse, they're out on the street.
2.  Social service programs have lost state/federal funding.  Housing assistance programs are scrambling to provide for women with children.  Single men are at the bottom of the list for aid.
3.  Hospitals have reverted to "shipping" indigent discharge patients anywhere to get them out of their facility.  In the business this is called "dumping" and hospitals are very good at dumping.

How Many Days?

Emergency Shelters are located in cities throughout the United States.  The perception when emergency shelters are mentioned is that of sadness, hopelessness, alcohol and drug abuse culminating in a sense of overwhelming desperation.  All these perceptions have validity; but the emergency shelter where I work every day, harbors some of the most unique individuals you'll ever meet.
Ordinary solutions don't work with these men.  For instance, the landlord has just notified that you are to be evicted from your apartment/room in 30 days.  Common sense would dictate that you need to start making some phone calls.  You need to excercise your social network and start calling in some favors.  You have to find out if there are any relatives who can put a roof over your head.  You have to do SOMETHING!  Not my guys.  They wait until the 30th day, pack up some clothing and walk the streets looking for soup kitchens. Procrastination and denial are the enemies in the fight to end homelessness.
In our emergency shelter, new applicants sit and recount their tales of woe to an intake clerk through a 4" circle of thick safety glass.  The stories that pass through that circle of glass are the basis of this blog.
Keep in mind that the overriding desire of each man that comes into the shelter is:  "How many days do I get?" and “What do I have to do to stay here longer?” They've wasted months and sometimes years getting into the predicament they've found themselves and NOW they're going to worry about how many days they will receive. Their plans to extracate themselves from a homeless condition are a plethora of pie-in-the-sky hopes and aren't as rule, sound. “I'll get a job and find an apartment” is the usual response to an exit plan; never mind the facts that one needs one month's rent and a month's security deposit. All in two weeks!
Most men in a homeless sheltr have exhausted their social contacts. Grown children drop their fathers off at the Mission because of a lengthly bout of incontinance. They're tired of washing smelly sheets. So, let's get rid of the problem. The practice of “putting our parents somewhere” is a statement about our generaton and society as a whole, but's that's another blog.
My staff and I formulate treatment plans to provide an exit stategy from the shelter. I'm blessed with some of the best case managers on the planet. Men that can place broken, sometimes deranged and usually addicted clients rather than turning them back out on the street. The process of conjuring this “social services magic” follows in future episodes.