 WYOMING WINDS January 2008907 Logan Avenue, Cheyenne, WY 82001-5247 phone: 307-634-8499 fax: 307-634-9089 email: wch@vcn.com ©1990-2008
Homeless Memorial Day 2007
Picture above reprinted from the archives The Wyoming Coalition for the Homeless sponsored the 18th annual Homeless Memorial Day in Cheyenne on December 21, 2007. Joining the National Coalition for the Homeless, the National Healthcare for the Homeless Council and more than 100 agencies and groups around the country who took the time to stop and remember those individuals who died on the streets during 2007. It was a bitter cold, windy day when a small but dedicated group gathered in front of the State Capitol Building in Cheyenne. Because a blizzard cancelled the 2006 Memorial the 16 individuals who died in 2006 were remembered this year along with 2 who died in 2007.
Homeless people die from exposure, unprotected from the heat and cold. Homeless people die from violence, often in unprovoked hate crimes. Health care is a human right. Housing is a human right. Physical safety is a human right. We come together to remember our neighbors and friends who have died without homes, and to remember why they died. Mayor Jack Spiker said that the winter weather on the 21st pointed out the conditions that homeless individuals endure everyday. While most people can find shelter indoors, there are those who cannot and die of exposure. Richard McCullough, out reach worker for Community Action's Health Care for the Homeless Crossroads Clinic, said "As a compassionate city,
it is imperative that we show our profound respect to those homeless who have passed away and our shared commitment toward ending homelessness.
One life is too many to sacrifice."
top Scouring the streets By JARED MILLER Casper Star-Tribune capital bureau Reprinted from the November 23, 2007 Casper Star-Tribune CHEYENNE -- For days, the homeless man bathed his injured leg in a gas station mop bucket. By the time he was discovered by Richard McCullough, an outreach worker and case manager for Cheyenne Crossroads Clinic, infection was slowly eating away at the limb. “Had it not been for the intervention, he would have probably lost his leg, if not his life,” said McCullough, who found the man living in a car. The intervention was all in a day's work for McCullough, who is probably the state's only full-time outreach worker for the homeless. It's his job to seek out the city's homeless and tell them about the clinic. But that's just the beginning of his work. After four years on the job, McCullough has become an unofficial liaison between the city's homeless and support services. He coordinates with shelter, hospitals, detox centers, law enforcement, housing agencies and the clinic. He keeps an eye on the people who can't get sober long enough to stay in the shelter. The local hospital and jail sometimes turn to him for help with homeless patients and inmates. When the coroner needed to identify two homeless men frozen to death under a bridge last year, he called McCullough. McCullough's co-workers call him the Energizer bunny because of his work ethic. The city's homeless call him “miracle worker” and friend. “Nobody else does what he does,” said Virginia Sellner, executive director of the Wyoming Coalition for the Homeless, a Cheyenne nonprofit organization. McCullough starts his day at 7 a.m. and drives upwards of 60 miles to visit the bridges, tunnels and creek bottoms where the city's homeless sometimes spend their nights. He gathers leads on where to find the “hidden” homeless packed into cheap motel rooms and crashed out in area homes. At 53, McCullough is small with thick blond hair and an easy way about him. He uses street lingo and a little self-taught Spanish to communicate with the transients and regulars who live around Cheyenne. The trunk of his car is packed with toothbrushes, sleeping bags and food for those in need. The work can be dangerous: McCullough has been threatened twice by drunken homeless men. But most of the time his clients greet him with a smile and a handshake. “He's a miracle worker,” said Daniel Schultz, who lived under a bridge when he met McCullough three years ago. Schultz, now 51, had just been released from a hospital after a near-fatal car crash. Uninsured and in need of long-term medical help, Schultz turned to McCullough, who provided rides to appointments, help with Social Security benefits and access to the clinic. “All he's ever asked me in return is that I keep up the faith that things are going to better, and I keep trying to improve myself,” said Schultz, who now lives in subsidized housing in Cheyenne. McCullough's hands-on style allows him to serve a segment of the population that nobody could reach before, Sellner said. Homeless people who are too scared or paranoid to talk to anyone else seek him out. “He has helped people who might have died if he hadn't found them under some bridge beaten to a pulp and taken them to a hospital,” Sellner said. McCullough is divorced, and his three children live elsewhere. Before taking the outreach job, he worked as an emergency medical technician and at a detox center. He has no college degree, nor formal training in his field. “It's all just plain old in-the-field experience,” McCullough said. Last week McCullough noticed a man picking through a trash bin. The man has been homeless since McCullough started the job and probably suffers from a mental illness. “What's up, brother? You been eating?” McCullough asked. “Yeah, I been eating,” the man said. “Where are you staying?” McCullough asked. “I'm still sleeping outside,” the man said. “You have a sleeping bag?” McCullough asked. “Yeah,” the man said. “All right, brother,” said McCullough, slipping two dollar bills into the man's palm. “You take care.” The money is McCullough's. It's part of the “hundreds” of dollars he has given out since he took the job -- a sizable chunk of his $27,000 annual salary. McCullough's colleagues in the social services field frown on his generosity. “Sometimes he's broke for a week because he did a little bit too much of that,” Sellner said. But McCullough isn't worried about the money. Some things, he said, are bigger than a dollar. Although he's not a religious man, McCullough believes his job is calling -- spiritual work. And he enjoys giving a voice to people who have none. “Every day we come face to face with poverty, and I'm enriched by every encounter,” he said. McCullough is no bleeding heart. Raised one of 10 children in Washington state, he learned the value of hard work. He discourages panhandling, and urges people to donate to reputable organizations that help the homeless. “I, 100 percent think people need to be held accountable,” he said. “This is a hand up, not a handout.” But McCullough said people need to keep an open mind and realize there are lots of reasons for homelessness -- and it's not just because people won't work. A lack of education, poor health, natural disasters and Wyoming's lack of affordable housing all put people on the streets. McCullough said the problem is getting worse. “We are experiencing an increase in homeless folks, especially families and veterans,” McCullough said. He also see more homeless people with mental illness and substance abuse issues. Recent state and federal figures show he is correct. The number of chronic homeless using shelters in Wyoming grew 61 percent between 2005 and 2006, according to a new survey from the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development. Wyoming's booming state economy has contributed to the problem by drawing workers to the state who can't find housing. The average homeless person in Wyoming is 35 years old. Half are women and children. A quarter are veterans. Nearly 20 percent are American Indian. Half make their permanent homes in the state, shattering the myth that most of the state's homeless are transients. McCullough said Cheyenne Mayor Jack Spiker and state leaders recognize the problem, and they are making efforts to fight its causes. But more could be done, he said. “The reason these conditions exist is because people allow it,” McCullough said. As the weather turns cold, McCullough's job becomes more critical. The transient population will take the trains south and west, but the city's resident homeless will struggle to stay warm and fed and healthy. McCullough will be there to help carry the load. “I go home every night and I feel I've done everything I could,” he said. Reach capital bureau reporter Jared Miller at (307) 632-1244 or at jared.miller@trib.com.   A Collaborative Effort of Religious Institutions P. O. Box 192 Cheyenne, WY 82003-0192 Cheyenne Salvage, which is on South Greeley Highway, across the street and just a little north of the new Safeway, has agreed to run a Day of Giving credit tab for recycling stuff people bring in and ask to have donated to the Day of Giving. Basically any metal to which a magnet does NOT stick is recyclable. VERY IMPORTANT: YOU MUST TELL CHEYENNE SALVAGE THAT YOU'RE DONATING TO THE DAY OF GIVING IN ORDER FOR THEM TO KNOW TO GIVE US CREDIT! HERES WHAT THEY TAKE: ALUMINUM: soda cans, screen doors, window frames, road signs, siding (painted or clean sheet), wire, rims, radiators, cast, foil, pots and pans, ladders, gutters, bumpers, grills, lawn chairs, camper shells, irrigation pipe, engine blocks, alternators, generators, pistons, drained transmissions, litho plate and other miscellaneous aluminum BRASS: machine, plate, chrome plated plumbing fixtures, faucets, drains, water valves, pipes, keys, files, gun shell castings and other miscellaneous brass. COPPER: sheet, tubing, pipe, plate, water valves, plumbing fixtures, radiators, heater cores, bright and shiny wire, electrical cords and insulated wiring of all types and other miscellaneous copper. MISCELLANEOUS METALS: electric motors (any size), armatures, stainless steel, lead, catalytic comverters, copper-lead wire, coax cable, and cast lawn mowers. AUTO BATTERIES AND ANY METAL THAT A MAGNET DOES NOT STICK TO. Need a magnet? They have them for $1.50 each. At the 2007 event 130 donors come to give blood, 104 on the Day of Giving and 26 at United Blood Services. 18 people were deferred. 23 people were first-time donors. A total of 87 units of blood were collected. The Colorado Marrow Donor Program registered 56 new bone marrow donors, and Sgt. Hoff registered about 104, 89 of them at the Day of Giving and several others on base as a result of his effective recruiting. About 100 people stopped by and talked to the representatives about donating tissue and organs many of whom were already listed as donors on their driver's license. 9,000 pounds of donations that includes food, personal care items and beverages were brought in and donated to COMEA House, Cheyenne Interfaith Hospitality Network, Needs, Inc., Salvation Army, Wyoming Coalition for the Homeless among others. Need more information? Contact Greta 2008 Day of Giving will be on May 9. Care of Poor People Web Site KANSAS CITY, Mo. – Hundreds of the metro's poor and homeless get food and clothes to help them survive through the winter through an event organized by a man who knows what it feels like to go without. Many stood in line for hours for a chance to get into Levitt Warehouse in Kansas City on a recent afternoon. Fifteen years ago, Richard Tripp organized Care of Poor People. Tripp, once homeless himself, says it is about showing the poor and homeless that someone cares and wants them to survive. One homeless woman came to Saturday's Survival Seven Event for the first time. "We stood in line for like three hours," she says. "But it's worth it." The semi-annual event is an opportunity for the poor and homeless to get clothing, toiletries, and toys for their kids. There are also tables of pizza, turkey, vegetables and lots of desserts. "It's great because it fills you up and it's cold outside," said another homeless woman. An 11-year-old boy was there to get some food. He says he often digs through the trash to find food and often goes to bed hungry. "Sometimes I just don't eat," he says. "Just because we are homeless doesn't mean that we don't have a heart," one person said. "It's just that people treat us like we're nothing. We're somebody too." Tripp says he does it because they need to know somebody does care. "We do it to save lives." About 150 volunteers of all ages and backgrounds make the event possible. Volunteer Melanie Keffer, 13, says it's good to give back to those who don't have much. Even if just for a few hours, the warehouse full of generous strangers feels something like home.
EHC LifeBuilders, a homeless services provider in Santa Clara County, opened two cold weather shelters Monday, November 26. Two National Guard armories in Gilroy and Sunnyvale will host the cold weather shelters after 6 each night, according to EHC LifeBuilders. "Homelessness is about day-to-day survival, and the harsh winter weather is just one more thing to fight when you're homeless," said Jennifer Loving, EHC LifeBuilders' chief executive officer. "EHC's Cold Weather Shelter Program provides a bed, food, services and safety from winter conditions." The Gilroy shelter is located at 8940 Wren Ave. The Sunnyvale shelter is located at 620 E. Maude Ave. Each facility offers 125 beds nightly to those in need. The Boccardo Reception Center, located at 2011 Little Orchard St., will remain open as usual, offering 250 emergency beds each night. EHC LifeBuilders recently slashed its budget by 50 percent and unloaded programs onto other non-profits. EHC currently handles 50 percent of the county's emergency homeless services. By MEGAN JAMES Addison Independant ADDISON COUNTY — Deep in the New Haven woods, the whirly-gig wheels on Dave Winborn’s ambulance-shaped lawn ornament spin around in the wind. This is how visitors know they’ve taken the right path to his tent, Winborn said, and how he knows he’s home. Winborn doesn’t consider himself homeless, and he doesn’t consider himself poor. He has a job, a truck and his beautiful tent, complete with a woodstove and writing desk, which he has inhabited since this summer when he pitched it on a friend’s land. The 55-year-old is an EMT on three different area rescue squads: he has volunteered with the Bristol squad for more than 25 years, with New Haven First Response for about 15 years and five months ago he started a paid position with Valley Rescue Squad in Hancock. Next spring Winborn will earn his associate’s degree in human services from the Community College of Vermont. “If I don’t blow it,” he said with a smile. “It’ll be the first time in my life I’ve ever worn a cap and gown. I never finished high school. I went right from public school to the streets.” But, even though he is a contributing member of society with a paying job, Winborn is one of many people in Addison County who cannot find an affordable apartment. This month the United Way of Addison County released the results of its 2007 Community Needs Assessment, in which about 750 area residents responded to a survey asking them to identify the most pressing needs they face today. Affordable housing ranked among the top four problems, along with financial stability, health and transportation. According to Elizabeth Ready, executive director of the John Graham Emergency Shelter in Vergennes, the rising cost of rent and the widening gap between the rich and poor have made it increasingly more difficult to secure an apartment in this area. “Many of us, myself included, our lives weren’t really that much different from theirs when we were young and struggling,” Ready said. “The difference between struggling and being homeless is really in some of the economic factors that we’re seeing now.” According to a study released by the University of New Hampshire in September, Vermont saw one of the highest jumps in income disparity in the United States in recent years, second only to Connecticut. Ross Gittell, the professor responsible for the study, attributed this to a simultaneous loss of manufacturing jobs and an influx of wealthy transplants from New York, Massachusetts and Connecticut. For a person like Winborn, who has struggled to make ends meet all his life, this means trouble. The rising cost of living is edging him out of affordable housing. His dilemma is all too typical. With Valley Rescue, Winborn takes home just under $350 a week, that’s about $1,400 a month. Apartments are available in Addison County for less than that; the average one-bedroom he’s seen is $800, he said. But take into account the expenses he would have to establish an apartment — security deposit, first and last month’s rent, utilities, furniture, cooking utensils and fuel — and Winborn estimates moving in could cost him upwards of $3,000. “All things considered, I prefer my tent,” he said. Winborn is not alone in his inability to find affordable housing. Crystal Kendall and Jack Walters have been bouncing around with family and friends for the last four years or so. Originally from the Winooski area, they came to the John Graham Emergency Shelter in October, about a month after Kendall gave birth to the couple’s daughter, Haley. State regulations kept them from staying longer than a week with their friends, who receive Section 8 housing assistance, and the Burlington homeless shelter, run by the Committee on Temporary Shelter, was full. Renting an apartment is just too expensive, the young couple said. In the Burlington area, the most affordable rent they could find for a two-bedroom apartment was $1,000 a month. Kendall, a 26-year-old new mother, doesn’t have a job, and Walters, 22, has been looking for work, a difficult process when you don’t have a place to go home to every night, he said. Walters isn’t being picky. “I’m willing to learn anything,” he said, but most of the jobs available are in the Middlebury or Bristol areas and he doesn’t have a car. This means planning around a sometimes-sporadic Addison County Transit Resources bus schedule. The real difficulty when it comes to getting a roof over your head, Kendall said, is in your credit record. “It’s all about the credit these days,” she said. “If you don’t have good credit, you don’t get an apartment.” According to John Graham shelter manager Diana Rule, this is true even when it comes to subsidized housing. “A lot of the people here don’t qualify for low-income housing in the area because of a bad landlord reference, bad credit reference,” she said. “So (even with) an apartment that would be totally affordable, where they would be paying $300 a month, they’re shut out of that market. The very people that the subsidized housing is made for a lot of times can’t get into it.” And a credit report can look bad for all sorts of reasons, Rule stressed. It may not be that the person stiffed the landlord, but that they didn’t make their cell phone payment. “We’ve got to find a way for people to get a second chance,” she said. Adam, a 35-year-old deaf artist now living in Middlebury, found his second chance through a number of local agencies: the Vergennes shelter, Addison County Community Action Group (ACCAG) and the Vermont Center for the Deaf and Hard of Hearing (VCDHH). But it took him seven months and unflinching determination to land permanent housing. Originally from Cleveland, Ohio, Adam, who asked that his last name not be used, had been living in Colchester and working at a Starbucks in Burlington. The coffee shop would not give him a full-time schedule, and his real passion, his freelance illustrating, kept him busy but didn’t bring in enough money to support him. He lost his apartment last winter when he could no longer make rent. Two weeks later he was fired from his job. After a few months crashing with friends, he got a room at the shelter. The shelter was his saving grace, Adam said. But he had to keep focused on finding an apartment and getting his life back together. He called his mission to move on from the shelter his escape from Alcatraz. “I schemed every night,” he said. “Made a checklist in my head. Step-by-step. How am I going to pull this off?” Working with ACCAG, Adam moved into permanent housing this spring. He also secured a part-time job through the VCDHH, serving as a job coach for another hearing-impaired person. He devotes the rest of his time to his drawing. Meanwhile, Kendall, Walters and their daughter, the young family at the Vergennes shelter now, have made slow but steady progress in the last couple weeks. Kendall has been working with ACCAG to secure an apartment in Bristol. The place costs $750 a month, utilities included, and with a voucher from the state housing authority, she and Walters would pay nothing until they can secure an income. “We want our own place to be able to set up (Haley’s) room,” Kendall said. “We’re confined to one room here. Sometimes it’s noisy. Haley will fall asleep and then it’ll wake her up.” Kendall put in an application to rush the voucher early this month, but the Section 8 housing list has been backed up, meaning her voucher is at least a month off. “I’ll still get the voucher within a couple months, but we kind of want a place before Christmas,” she said. “I’ve got enough people rooting for me right now. It’s going to all come to an end, I can feel it.” As for Winborn out in the New Haven woods, he feels he’s already made it. Living in a tent suits him just fine. He ordered the thing six years ago in the hopes of living just like this. “I like it here,” he said. “It’s home.”
Fuelled by Premier Dalton McGuinty's commitment to set anti-poverty targets and timetables within 12 months, expectations are high for poverty reduction in Ontario in 2008. As we look ahead to this Thursday's throne speech, four simple words will signal the degree of the government's dedication to anti-poverty: targets, policies, consultations and resources. The need for action is nothing short of urgent. As reported by UNICEF Canada last week, despite our record levels of economic growth, child poverty has persisted at the same high rates for an entire generation. Among aboriginal populations, racialized communities, newcomers, single mothers and people with disabilities the situation is even starker, with adult and child poverty rates that can be many times the Ontario average. So it is encouraging that Ontario's government has pledged to do its part to reverse this situation. The appointment of Deb Matthews as lead minister and the expected formation of a cabinet committee on poverty reduction are concrete steps in the right direction. As the government now decides on its next move, it would do well to learn from those jurisdictions that are working successfully to tackle poverty. As a start, it is increasingly obvious that setting clear targets is critical to following through on good intentions. In the U.K., Tony Blair set a target of 25 per cent poverty reduction in five years, which opened the door for impressive gains. Closer to home, Premier Danny Williams has pledged to bring Newfoundland and Labrador's poverty rate to the lowest level of any province by 2010. Quebec adopted a detailed anti-poverty law as a guidepost to its nation-leading efforts. Nova Scotia is in the midst of consultations on its own poverty reduction strategy. And just days ago, Stéphane Dion raised the stakes in the poverty debate by promising to cut child poverty by 50 per cent in five years should his party win the next federal election. Ontario should follow suit by setting bold yet achievable targets for reducing poverty. We have called for a poverty reduction target of 25 per cent in five years, and 50 per cent within the decade. Discussion about targets inevitably leads to the question of how we will measure success. While arriving at the right measure of poverty deserves rigorous thinking, it need not monopolize the government's strategy over the next few months. At the end of the day, regardless of which measure of poverty is chosen, what is most important is that we get on with the job of improving the lives of all Ontarians. This brings us to the question of policies. The good news is that the Liberal government has already taken a number of steps that have the potential to drive down poverty. What it needs to do now is to build on those initiatives for a longer-term vision and track progress regularly and accurately on each front. Start with the principle that a hard day's work should equal a fair day's pay, through minimum wage increases, stepping up the enforcement of labour standards, and breaking down barriers based on discrimination. Give adults and children real income security by bolstering the newly created Ontario Child Benefit and providing adequate systems of support for those who cannot work full time. Include policies that specifically address the disproportionate impact of poverty on racialized communities, aboriginal people, women, persons with disabilities and newcomers. Make affordable housing and quality child care top provincial priorities. Ensure that everyone has real access to medical and dental care. These are all crucial elements of a comprehensive poverty reduction strategy. A commitment to regular reporting on how the government is progressing on each of these policy fronts will go a long way toward convincing Ontarians that our poverty reduction strategy is on the right track. Ontarians will want to know if the Ontario Child Benefit is making a positive difference in the lives of families. Are we investing adequately in child care and affordable housing? Are workers being treated fairly in the workplace? Are the most disadvantaged communities benefiting? And how are large urban centres, such as Toronto, faring where poverty is disproportionately higher? Consultation to determine these and other questions is critical to building wide support for a comprehensive strategy. To its credit, the government has consistently pledged to work with a wide range of Ontarians on developing the strategy. Community and civic leaders – including those from diverse communities and the most seriously disadvantaged groups, policy thinkers, low income people and business representatives – all need to be involved in discussions about what targets to set, what measures to use, and the kinds of policies that will make a difference. An Ontario poverty reduction plan is not simply about those who are poor. It is ultimately about how we ensure the social and economic well-being for all our communities and our province. Finally, good intentions and a great plan will remain stalled unless backed by significant resources. Ontario showed leadership in its last budget by prioritizing available funds to create the new Ontario Child Benefit. This is the kind of initiative that, properly implemented, can make a positive impact on the lives of a good number of Ontario's poor. The reality, though, is that without new and appropriately directed financial investment the Ontario Child Benefit will not reach its fullest potential; new affordable housing units or improvements in the existing housing stock will not happen; child-care spaces will not become available; the promise of low income dental benefits will not materialize, and the existing inequalities facing the most marginalized will remain. In short, the success of poverty reduction promises ultimately depends on a firm commitment to invest what is needed in what works. Without it, an anti-poverty strategy is destined to fall short of its objectives. The government's course of action on poverty so far has earned it the benefit of the doubt for many community stakeholders. This week's throne speech will be an important signal of whether the Ontario government means business about an issue that concerns all of us. Serious action on poverty reduction speaks to not only the promise "to" Ontario, but the promise "of" Ontario. John Campey, executive director of the Community Social Planning Council of Toronto; Uzma Shakir of the Colour of Poverty Campaign Steering Committee; and Doris Grinspun, executive director of the Registered Nurses' Association of Ontario, are members of the Ontario 25 in 5 Network for Poverty Reduction. Various factors lead to 'critical' shortage By Erin Hanrahan Valley News The lobby of the Grace Outreach building in West Lebanon was quiet Monday, except for a rustling in a large closet, where volunteer Mary Tinkham was stocking shelves with cans and boxes of nonperishable food. Poking her head out, Tinkham explained that she'd just returned from a monthly trip to the New Hampshire Food Bank in Manchester, where, for 18 cents a pound, she picks up everything from beans to meat for the Grace Ministries food pantry and community meal program. That is, she used to pick up everything from beans to meat. These days, Tinkham said, the pickings are slimmer. For the last few weeks, the New Hampshire Food Bank has been facing what operations manager Michele Garron called a "critical shortage," with food levels down to a fraction of what they should be this time of year, and area food pantries are feeling the effects. "When we went down last year, you could get two cases of fruit, two cases of veggies and a case of beans," Tinkham recalled, considering a case of beef stew on a high shelf. "You go down now, you probably are going to get cases of crackers, cases of candy or cases of junk drink." Even at 18 cents a pound, Tinkham said, candy isn't what she needs. Earlier this week, Garron listed inventory at the New Hampshire Food Bank at 174,000 pounds, which, she acknowledged, includes a lot of sweets and little protein. Judy Stermer, a communications specialist for the Vermont Food Bank, said food levels there are also down, running about 50 percent lower than they were at this time last year. There are plenty of reasons for the shortfall, both administrators said. High fuel prices have driven up the cost of living, increasing demand for help among the working poor, while supplies to the food banks have dwindled. Stermer traced declining supplies to cutbacks in The Emergency Food Assistance Program, through which the federal government buys commodity foods, such as pasta, meats and peanut butter, and gives them to states to distribute among approved charities, usually food banks. The national food bank network America's Second Harvest attributes federal decreases to a strong agricultural market. When prices go up, the same amount of money buys less food to distribute among charities. The website for the emergency food program says its appropriation from Congress, $189.5 million, is the same as last year's. Of that figure, $49.5 million, or 26 percent, goes to states and local agencies for administrative support, according to the site. Another reason for the decline, Garron said, is technology. "Just-in-time inventory systems have really tightened up the way retailers and wholesalers handle their inventory," she said. Less waste at supermarkets has cut down the amount of food for the poor. In all, there have been fewer large donations to food banks, Garron said, a problem that she said has been growing worse for the last year and a half. The New Hampshire Food Bank found itself with smaller amounts of canned vegetables and fruits to pass on to local food pantries. On Oct. 31, Garron said, it began distributing emergency pantry packets, normally reserved for natural disasters. Back in West Lebanon this week, Tinkham shook her head as she recalled her morning trip to the 18,200-square-foot warehouse in Manchester, where, she said, many shelves were empty. "It's such a blessing to have to food bank, but they are really hurting," she said. "If it was our only source of food, there would be many times we would be bare." At this time of year, Tinkham's organization provides food for about 40 households a week. Fortunately, Tinkham and organizers at other Upper Valley food pantries say, their stores are heavily supplemented by local donations, especially around the holidays. At Mascoma Senior Center in Canaan, large donations from Cardigan Mountain School and area Boy Scouts helped keep pantries stocked for Meals on Wheels and community meal programs this week. "Local groups have been very generous to us for the past couple of weeks, so I think we're okay for the time being," said social worker Carol Dustin. The senior center was able to get eight turkeys from the Manchester food bank for an early Thanksgiving meal in the first week of November, but cook Laura Clang said there was no other meat available when she returned to Manchester a few weeks ago. "Last time we went, we really didn't bring anything back, because there really wasn't anything we could use," she said. In Lebanon, Tinkham said she ran into the same problem, though she did find a few essentials. To maximize protein, Tinkham took advantage of a decade-old program called Hunt for the Hungry, through which New Hampshire hunters donate venison and other meats to the food bank. "Lately they haven't had much meat, so (the game) has been wonderful," she said. Garron said hunters typically bring between 2,000 and 4,000 pounds of meat to the food bank through Hunt for the Hungry. Almost all of it comes in the fall, during the state's moose and deer seasons. As of Monday, just five days into New Hampshire's firearms deer season, Garron said hunters had brought in 1,750 pounds of meat, or enough for about 6,000 meals. That number may seem small next to the nearly 3 million meals the food bank provides each year, but Garron said, "We never have enough protein, so every little bit helps." She pointed out that venison is especially healthy meat. When Tinkham left the food bank, she had foraged nearly 1,000 pounds of food, which cost her $92 but had a retail value, spelled out on her receipt, of $1,300. Still, she said, that amount would hardly cover the need that she sees. In the winter, area agencies say demand for food assistance programs goes up as heating costs increase. And the last few winters have been particularly bad. By Marc Fisher Washington Post This is where Gregory Hart lived for most of the past two years: down an alley alongside Ben's Chili Bowl on U Street NW, next to a trash can, curled against a concrete platform. Here, gang toughs assaulted him with a baseball bat. Here, he raised rats in a box. Here, he relied on a dog and a cat -- Bam Bam and Little Bam Bam -- to wake him if danger lurked. Here, passersby called him "retard" and shouted at him to "get a job." And this is where Gregory Hart has lived since last Thursday: in a spacious, sunny, well-heated three-room apartment he has entirely to himself, with a stove where he can cook chicken and gravy, and with a blue comforter he chose at Target and a bed where he can sleep as long as he wants without fear of attack. Hart, 53, has spent long chunks of his life on the streets of Washington. Mentally ill and in poor health, he has drifted through periods of drinking and drugging. Dismissed as mentally incompetent from an early age, he never attended regular school and couldn't read or write until adulthood. "My mother tried to keep me in the house when I was young because nobody liked me," he says. "I was rejected by the population." Hart would still be in the alley this week if not for a small but fast-growing nonprofit group called Pathways to Housing that puts chronically homeless people into their own apartments -- with daily support from social workers -- even if they're not sober, even if they lack basic housekeeping skills. ad_icon Most plans for the homeless involve moving them through shelters and group homes until they prove they are ready for permanent housing by staying sober and going to treatment for a substantial time. But under a model called Housing First, groups such as Pathways take people as they are, in part because housing is a basic right and in part because it's cheaper. It costs $23,000 a year to care for people who have someplace to live versus more than $40,000 a year to give the homeless the emergency services they require -- hospital ER care, detox, hours of police attention, endless trips through the court system. In four years in Washington, Pathways has taken 130 homeless people off the streets, about 90 percent of whom are still in housing. Landlords like to rent to Pathways clients rather than other renters on public benefits because although homeless people arrive with many problems, they are closely supervised by the organization's treatment team. In a federally funded study, 225 homeless people with severe mental illnesses were randomly placed in either a Housing First program or a traditional care model in select cities. After two years, 80 percent of the Housing First participants were still in housing, compared with 34 percent of those put through the standard approach. As it turns out, there's a side benefit to getting the chronically homeless off the streets: Although many continue to drink and use drugs, they tend to do less of those things. Hart still drinks, still hears voices. But he says he's drinking less because he's far from the temptations at the shelters, safe from the cold and from nights that seem as if they'll never end. "Like many homeless people, Greg was drinking to manage his mental illness or to fall asleep in difficult conditions," says Christy Respress, Pathway's Washington program director. "When they get into housing, they often don't drink as much because they have a warm room and a real bed." Still, Hart faces a hard road. "Getting people into housing is the easy part," Respress says. "The hard part is staying there." Hart's life has been an excruciating series of humiliations and traumas. One of nine children who grew up at the Sursum Corda project off North Capitol Street, Hart tells of his brothers and sisters who were shot to death or took their lives, of murders and other unspeakable acts he's seen on the streets. At another alleyway where he used to sleep, he broke into tears at the memory of one midnight assault. Less than half a block later, when a police cruiser blasted its siren, Hart yelped and bounced back into a chain-link fence, quivering until he was assured that the police weren't coming for him. One block later, we ran into two women who grew up with Hart but hadn't seen him in decades. "Squeaky!" they shouted -- his boyhood street name -- and hugged him tight. Within five minutes, one woman had Hart's brother on the cellphone, and the two spoke for the first time in years. "I'm back," Hart cried out. "I'm baaaaack. I got my own apartment, and I want to see you, my brother." Pathways counselors will visit Hart daily at his new place in the Deanwood section of Northeast, enroll him in treatment, help him manage his money and eventually nudge him back toward the world of work. They've gotten him back Social Security payments he's eligible for because he worked a maintenance job for many years. One-third of his benefits go toward his rent; Pathways pays the rest, using federal and District funds. For now, Hart is settling in. He has ideas about decoration: "Posters are for young people. If it's not in a frame, it's not going on the wall." As deliverymen bring in his mattress, Hart shakes with glee. "Pinch me! It's still not real," he says. Then, when the men carry in a plush off-white love seat and plop it down in the living room, Greg Hart lowers himself into the deep cushions. "Oh," he says. "Oh. Oh. That's pretty." In a few seconds, he's drifting off. Housing agency, nonprofit team up to help the homeless By Megan Woolhouse Globe Staff For Marc Mallary, Christmas last year was like any other day. He ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and slept on donated blankets and quilts with a dozen homeless people living under the brightly decorated trees of Boston Common. This Christmas is different. Mallary, 48, now lives in a one-bedroom apartment of his own in the Mary McCormack housing development in South Boston. The burly Dorchester native moved in only a few weeks ago and is still adjusting. Even though a radiator blasts heat in the apartment, Mallary often forgets to take off his heavy winter coat indoors. "I'm happy," he said, unable to hold back tears during an interview Thursday. "People say, 'Oh, you're living in the projects.' But I come home and close the door, and this is my little castle." Mallary is one of a handful of homeless people who used to live on the Common, but have received apartments from the Boston Housing Authority. The authority was reacting to a curfew police imposed last summer after a shot was fired into the nearby State House. Knowing that the curfew would displace dozens of homeless people, including some who refuse to stay in shelters, the authority teamed up with the nonprofit agency hopeFound to find subsidized housing. Ten homeless people who used to live on the Common have recently moved into their own places, and another 44 have been approved for new homes. About 50 people are believed to have lived on the Common. Some never followed up on the applications for housing offered by hopeFound workers. Mary Nee, executive director of hopeFound, said the challenge of getting people into housing is only surpassed by the challenge of keeping them there. "You can't just show up and move these people into housing," she said. "They're living on the street. It's dangerous, and many have mental health issues. You need to build trust, and that doesn't happen in a day." Chris Nourse moved into a one-room apartment in Charlestown Nov. 16, after nearly a year of living on the Common. He recalled spending last Christmas on a bench guarding two shopping carts. One contained all his possessions (clothes, blankets, food); the other belonged to a friend who had been hospitalized with pneumonia. "Basically I just sat there all day," said Nourse, 38. He grew up in Newton, N.H., and had worked in auto parts dealerships until he was laid off by one and could not find work at another. He said he moved to Waltham and watched his money run out. The only available job seemed to be working at Dunkin' Donuts for $8 an hour, not enough to cover his rent, probation fees for DUI offenses, and child-support payments for his son. He ended up living on the Common, spending his days asking people for money and his nights in an alcove at the Airborne Express office entrance on Tremont Street. "In the winter, you move with the sun," he said of his days on the Common. "And in the summer, you move with the shade." Like Nourse, Tammy Whiteway rejected shelters in favor of life on the Common. "I did not deal well with chaos," she said. "The shelters are uncontrolled chaos." Many are full and have sleeping space only on the floors. Few have handicap-accessible showers. Whiteway said she felt safer on the Common. She spent nine months living there with a group that congregated near the Park Street fountain. Most nights, she slept in a wheelchair she has used to get around since a car crash left her legs paralyzed. She found an electric outlet outside the Macy's building and used it to keep her wheelchair charged. She stole clothes, she said, and used bathrooms at fast-food restaurants. She napped fitfully, fearful of what could happen if she drifted off into deep sleep. Mark Manning, who helped recruit homeless people for housing for hopeFound, recalled finding Whiteway soaked after a rainstorm. When an apartment fell through in October, she screamed and cursed at everyone on the Common, she said. Sitting in her new one-room apartment in Charlestown last week, Whitehead wore her freshly washed hair in a ponytail and a green "Get the Lead Out" T-shirt. She said she slept for 12 straight hours the night she moved in, calling Manning at 7:50 the next morning to tell him how happy she was. "It's been an amazing change," Manning said of Whitehead's demeanor since she moved in. "Her whole face has changed since she came inside." Whiteway said it was difficult leaving behind her friends. When she first moved into her apartment, she found herself visiting the Common daily. Now she goes back about twice a week. "I miss Big Mikey and Billy, even though when he gets drunk he's a pain," she said. "I just want to make sure my friends are getting housed now." Mallary said he will spend Christmas alone in his new apartment, reading and playing video games on a PlayStation a friend gave him. He dreams of going to school to learn to become a massage therapist, but for now his disability checks leave him with little money for anything more than food and cigarettes. He once worked as a truck driver, but after a break-up and the death of his mother, he started using cocaine and lost his home and contact with his family, including his five children. For five years, his home was often a bare patch of pavement next to the Civil War Memorial. He says he is off drugs. Today, his closest friends are the people he lived with on the Common. He called them family and said that knowing them was "pretty much the best experience of my life." He also struggles with the isolation he feels in his new apartment. It is located nearly 4 miles from the Common, and he does not often have guests over, fearful that trouble could erupt and he could get evicted. "I'm going to keep this place," he said. "I'm not going anywhere." By Berny Morson Rocky Mountain News Not all homeless people can get to the Stout Street Clinic operated by the Colorado Coalition for the Homeless at 2100 Broadway. So the agency, which is seeking a Season to Share grant, sends a specially equipped van to sites frequented by homeless people, including shelters and hotels. Medical director Ed Farrell has been with the clinic for 13 years. Before that, he worked with American Indians in Alaska and South Dakota. He is motivated by the belief that everyone has a right to health care. How did you decide to operate a health van? We definitely had this vision of, gosh, it would be nice to take the care to these people, form the connections, meet them while they’re having their acute illnesses or needing immunizations, meet their acute care needs and then really get them so they’ll come down and get the more comprehensive care at Stout Street. What kind of vehicle do you use? Initially we had this very old, small, dilapidated van that was just like an old beat-up RV. It kept breaking down and we’d be cancelling clinics. And it wasn’t big enough to do a more complete exam. The current van is actually a pretty large, specially designed health outreach vehicle that’s got two exam rooms and a little registration area. It’s a clinic on wheels. What are the most common illnesses you treat? We’ll see strep throat and coughs and colds and bronchitis. We definitely see other types of infections, like cellulitis or infections of the skin and soft tissue. Definitely we will see infestations, like lice or scabies. We see people who have chronic diseases like hypertension and asthma and emphysema. Some of the things you’ll see with kids — you’ll see acute ear infections. We see kids coming in needing immunizations. We definitely see trauma. I saw a kid who potentially had a broken finger; I saw a baby with a diaper rash; a mother whose child was six or eight weeks old — she was fleeing domestic violence. What about mental illness? There’s a very significant percentage of homeless people who have mental illness. We don’t have medications for major depression on the van. One day I saw a woman with very serious depression. I actually connected with her, got her medications she could pick up next day in the clinic, and then she saw me a week later in the clinic. She’s stayed connected with me to get treatment for her depression, and she’s doing a lot better now. Without the van, she never would have come down to 2100 Broadway. Does the van follow a regular route? It operates Monday through Friday. It actually does more than 40 hours per week. We have a very regular schedule. One morning a week, we go to St. Francis Day Shelter. Every Monday night, we go to the biggest shelter, the Crossroads Shelter. There’ll be a point person (at the shelters) and they’ll help with crowd control and sign-up on the list. They can say, “Look, you’ve really got to see John Doe because he’s got a bad deal going on with his leg.” How many people do you see on the van? I think our numbers at this point are about 220 to 240 a month. It’s not a huge number. It’s a pretty good number. Sometimes what you’re doing is, you’re seeing one of those depressed people or one of those people who’s fleeing domestic violence and you’re making sure you take the extra time instead of just talking care of the rash on their foot and getting them out the door. Wyoming Winds
is published by the Wyoming Coalition for the Homeless |
The Board and Staff of WCH would like to thank the Cheyenne Community
for all their support and help during the holiday season. Donations of time, talent, money, food, clothing, gifts and other items
make both the Thanksgiving and Christmas Holidays extra special for those homeless coming into the Welcome Mat during this time. The picture on the
left shows some of the new coats that were donated by Holland and Hart to be given as Christmas gifts.
Homeless people die from illnesses that affect everyone,