THE UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN
NEWS
7A
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 10, 2008
know?" Mark says. "Gear, up.
Nothing else to do. Once you've been out here a little while, you come to that realization. I mean, that's the bottom line."
--thing," Mike says. "Jewelry, flat-screen, pictures, just anything and everything. My ex-wife and I had a long conversation and decided it would be best if I moved out."
10
Mike can, remember the first time he smoked crack as though it were yesterday.
"I was working at AT&T, and I just cashed my check," Mike says. "I went to the bank, took out $1,000, and blew it."
Mike, 41, arrived in Lawrence from the Kansas City area in 2007. After 10 years of crack addiction, it seemed like the sanest place to go.
"I was to the point in my addiction where I was pawning every
A veteran of the U.S. Army, Mike first Olathe
and went to a veteran's shelter in Leavenworth, but he was kicked out when administrators caught him using narcotics. When he was later released from a Johnson County detox center, staff members recommended a pair of men's halfway houses in Lawrence. Kansas City was out of the question, because Mike still had too many viable drug connections there.
"I guess I thought that if I got away from Kansas City, I'd have a better chance," Mike says. "Which fooled me."
"Right now, you could probably offer me some crack, and I could probably tell you no. But money has always been a trigger for me to go use."
With the suggested recovery centers full, Mike began staying at the Salvation Army Emergency Shelter. Mike says he prefers it to the community shelter, primarily because it maintains a zero-tolerance stance toward inebriation and even administers Breathalyzer tests to individuals wanting to stay in the facility.
Homeless men settle in for the night in the Lawrence Community Shelter, the facility's television remaining on for a few minutes after the lights-out call at 10 p.m. Though a 2007 Housing and Urban Development survey put the city's homeless population at more than 300 — including more than 100 children — outreach workers say the number is closer to 400. Ryan McGeeney/KANSA
But a short time after his arrival, Mike, who owns a car, gave a ride to two individuals also staying in the shelter, who offered him crack.
"That led to smoking crack, and it just escalated from there," he says.
During the course of a year, Mike gradually identified his Achilles' heel: money.
"I don't have a problem until I get money in my pocket," Mike says. "Right now, you could probably offer me crack, and I could probably tell you no. But money has always been a trigger for me to go use."
--homeless population because we have such great services, that it's a problem that we're offering services here," Cook says. "I don't believe that's the case. I believe what is happening is that other cities are dumping their clients on us."
Which puts Mike in a delicate situation. If the key to escaping homelessness is a job and steady income, and money means a return to drug abuse for Mike, what is the long-term solution?
MIKE Homeless Lawrence resident
The short-term solution, apparently, is total garnishment. Currently, Mike works for the Salvation Army, helping to coordinate the local holiday bell-ringing charity campaign, processing applications and driving ringers their stops.
He says he's reached an agreement with two of the shelter captains to withhold his paychecks from him for the time being.
"It's what I wanted, not what they wanted," Mike says, noting that he's not too comfortable with the prospect of a looming payday.
Cook cites clients he is currently treating who were sent directly by institutions such as the Osawatomie State Hospital, the Topeka Rescue Mission, and authorities in Johnson County, where homelessness has been effectively outlawed.
Soon, those other cities will have one fewer Lawrence shelter to rely on. The local Salvation Army has announced it will cease providing an emergency shelter to homeless people — including
Captain Wesley Dalberg, the Salvation Army Corps Officer in charge of Lawrence's shelter, isn't particularly surprised that Mike and other homeless individuals eventually make their way here.
"At some point, Lawrence definitely put out the welcome mat for homeless people, there's no doubt about that." Dalberg says. "I don't say that as a negative, but if you build it, they will come."
Brad Cook, a social worker at Bert Nash Community Mental Health Center and member of the city's Homeless Outreach team, says the conventional wisdom of the homeless seeking out Lawrence of their own accord may be missing an ongoing trend.
"The argument is always that there's an ongoing increase in the
families who children — sometime in 2009 to focus on transitional housing for families trying to progress to a more stable arrangement.
Ryan McGeeney/KANSAN
Their shift from emergency shelter to transitional housing service is
Ryan McGeeney/KNASAN
A homeless man watches Lawrence firefighters and police behind the Lawrence Community Shelter in mid-November. Two of the shelter's residents, who had acquired the keys to a vehicle, had driven it into the side of a nearby building, damaging a natural gas meter. Lawrence police enjoy a reputation among many of Lawrence's homeless as being handed in their dealing with the person
in keeping with the position of the Community Commission on Homelessness. They say Lawrence would be better served by a larger version of the community shelter providing all emergency shelter services for the city, freeing the Salvation Army and other providers to focus on other aspects of housing.
"It's really not possible for any one entity or agency to serve all the needs of all the people in any shelter," Dalberg says. "You'll find that although they do have some similarities, each individual has individual needs — they have baggage they carry with them, and I'm not talking about a suitcase."
--as a homeless career. He says he began traveling the country, living off what public resources he could find, when he was 19.
"I was a big reader until 1998, when I discovered the Internet," Dan says. "Now all I read is the CNN Web page. And I listen to a lot of talk radio. Everything I learned about politics, I learned by listening to talk radio."
"Two or three times a day, I go over to the community center — it's a free gym," Dan says. "I go in and ride the elliptical at least twice a day. That's a cure for the blues right there. If I start feeling blue, I'll go jump on the elliptical and just ride the hell out of it."
Dan glances over his shoulder for cops before slipping between the large aluminum doors that conceal three large dumpsters behind a downtown bookstore.
Between visits to the gym, Dan spends time in the public library, surfing the Web.
At 47, Dan finds himself midway through what is best described
"You would not believe some of the great shit I find out here sometimes," Dan says, leaning over the edge of one of the dumpsters, rifling through the discarded magazines on top of the pile.
Dan's days are filled with such routines. Not dumpster diving, per se — but a series of tasks designed to occupy his time. The shelter, the free clothing store, the church lunch. They don't necessarily lead anywhere — they are intentionally ends unto themselves.
Three days a week, when the store dumps magazines that have failed to sell, Dan sifts through the dumpsters in search of software magazines. The employees tear off the cover, presumably so that no one tries to later resell them, but Dan isn't interested in that — he just wants the CD-ROMs often packaged with the magazines.
"Lots of times, they'll have a complete version of Linux, which is a big find for me," Dan says. He trades the disks among a small network of local computer enthusiasts for other discs, eventually trading up to something he actually wants, like a USB wireless Internet device for the five-year-old Apple laptop he recently acquired.
But Dan strikes out today. No software. Just a bunch of desecrated fashion magazines that are of no use to anyone now, if they ever were. Not even a sandwich.
"Sometimes you'll find wrapped up sandwiches, perfectly good," Dan says. "The gourmet kind."
"I've been and lots of towns in each state," Dan says. "I don't travel so much a n y m o r e. I'm turning into a home-body, probably because of age."
Dan can't
"I've been to 45 other states."
Dan can't explain why he's avoided settling down with a job or a home.
"I wonder myself sometimes," he says. "I attribute it to weakness of character or bad character — keeps me from doing the right thing, I don't like it, I just can't do the other thing: get a job and keep it. I've tried it lots of times, too."
Dan is the contradictory mix of motivation and disinterest that infuriates critics of the homeless. He's active, cogent and sober — but has no interest in work, in the traditional sense, and though he chastises himself for his self-serving ethics, he doesn't mind exploiting available resources.
"Trouble is, I agree with almost everything they say." Dan says of right-wing talk radio hosts. He says he thinks places such as the Lawrence Community Shelter should be shut down. "It would force me to do something else. My heart's on the right, but I use the left. That's the way it is. I absolutely know it's wrong, that they're enabling us."
"Is it legal for me, or any other homeless person, to protect myself from freezing to death?"
shame," he continues. "I remember when I first got started at this, back in my 20s, I was more ashamed of it than I am now. That's why I like being out on the road — there's
"I've become numb to the
MICHAEL TANNER Homeless Lawrence resident
no shame
involved.
Nobody knows me, and they're never gonna see me again."
Dan's political views lean to the right, but he has no problem with Lawrence's
reputation as a liberal, hometress- friendly city.
"People are civil," Dan says. "Free clothes, no way to go hungry. Crime's low, cops are nice. Some place like Tulsa or Oklahoma City, the cops will really beat the shit out of you."
How Lawrence treats its homeless is actually a topic of some debate. The moment Dan says how gracious Lawrence Police are to the homeless, Fern, a middle-aged woman who frequents the local homeless facilities, says, "I never knew how rough Lawrence was on the homeless until I read it in the paper."
Fern is likely referring to a 2006 Associated Press article, syndicated in papers across the country in which the National Coalition for the Homeless described Lawrence as the second-meanest city to homeless in the country.
The criteria for this honor was primarily based on city ordinances such as those banning overnight camping in public spaces and aggressive panhandling.
Though Sarasota, Fla., was No. 1, it's worth noting that Lawrence topped such notable mean competitors as Atlanta, Chicago and New York City.
--worker at Bert Nash, the mentality behind destroying the campsite is emblematic of the frustration many people working within the social welfare system feel.
"Is it legal," Michael Tanner asked, "for me, or any other homeless person, to protect myself from freezing to death?"
When Tanner posed this question to the Lawrence City Commission in November, the mayor's chair must have been among the most uncomfortable in the room.
Mayor Mike Dever was at a loss for words. Although news of the Parks and Recreation Department's dismantling the site was common knowledge by this time, Dever was only then coming to the realization that the city had acted on a standing order from the commission he now led as mayor.
Tanner, who claimed responsibility for the buildup of the homeless encampment near the river, was not asking a hypothetical question. He said he built the campsite as a buttress against the coming cold winter, and now it was gone.
For Brad Cook, the social
"I don't consider what we did to be wrong by the law, but I question the action just a little bit," Dever says. "Not that I'm not supportive of staff, but me, personally, I question it. I didn't realize the extent of what occurred, and I feel like the timing was poor."
"I feel for Michael," Dever says about Tanner. "And I understand that this was an outrage for him."
"You always hear people criticizing the homeless, saying you have to pick up your bootstraps, and do this, do that," Cook says. "So you have a group of people here who are living by their own means, taking care of themselves — everything everyone who's critical of them wants them to do, and in the ultimate act of hypocrisy, they go in and destroy it."
"There's an age-old adage that says you can judge a community by how it treats the least among them." Dever says.
Despite the destruction of the homeless encampment near the river, Mayor Dever says it's important for the city to embrace the homeless population as part of the community.
Dever says he's not swayed by the argument that improving Lawrence's homeless services will exacerbate the situation by attracting more homeless.
"I think there's a simple concept of doing what's in the best interest of the community." Dever says. "You can't put in a larger shelter without also putting in place plans to move people from homelessness to a viable society where they're productive and able to provide for their families and themselves. I think as part of a comprehensive program, we can't just focus on the shelters. We have to focus on the programs to move people out of homelessness."
Edited by Tara Smith