Bogus Ass-freezing Exercise in Futility: HUD's Point in Time Count

[This post is longer than usual, and contains an informative link to NLCHP's similar comments. I’ve tried not to offend the good people who volunteer to do the HUD Point-in-Time count. But I’m sure I’ll step on a bunch of toes.] 

Frank. One of millions. He counts.

During the last week of January, since I’m part of the Carlisle, PA community for the time being, I volunteered to be one of the good souls that would go out and try to find and interview unsheltered homeless people in the Cumberland County jurisdiction. It was more curiosity than benevolence on my part.

Feeling somewhat guilty, I layered up, grabbing my seldom-used silk long undies, my extra warm socks, lined jeans, hooded sweatshirt, windproof jacket, waterproof gloves and shoes. All set to tromp in Snowzilla.

Pat and I met up with the band of volunteers at the chain grocery store cafe. This wasn’t my event to organize, so I could just hang back and nod in agreement. We signed our liability and confidentiality forms and headed out.

We hopped into the purpose-filled Element SUV driven by Ross, aka the Bike Guy. He retired from the railroad and is now, among other things, involved in providing those without bucks the opportunity to get bikes. 

I was in the back seat, and didn’t feel the need to know anything more than I did know, which is that HUD requires communities to conduct this count at least every other January so HUD can report the numbers to Congress. It’s a process that’s become more organized in the past 10 years or so. When I ran a shelter we just endured the Census Bureau and their awkward and annoying efforts every 10 years. 

Our train expert/guide was adept at finding places to drive along train property. His 4-wheel-drive vehicle made easy work of the ice and snow. And, I’ve got to say in sincere awe, he sure knows how to back up adeptly! 

The End of January Snow in Carlisle, PA, 

We wove in and out of Harrisburg, PA’s train yards on the NW side of the city. With 2’ of snow on the ground, we were spared the chilly drudgery of tromping aimlessly through the woods. If we didn’t see a trail of footsteps through the snow, our zealous guide astutely decided that no one was living in that area.

We only had to get out once, and stood as Ross tromped down a hillside to follow the possible hot trail. It was. A 50-ish white male was camping in a remote spot, polite but not interested in the questions we were supposed to ask, so Ross decided to give us the details which Pat dutifully chronicled, and we returned to the warmth of the car to continue what was a futile venture.

Homeless people in these neighborhoods wouldn’t be on sidewalks in front of buildings, they’d be in alleyways or the parks. But the training materials explicitly stated "No parks, alleys, abandoned buildings, etc." out of concern for the volunteers’ safety. My team saw not a single homeless person. That does not mean they don't exist in the zip codes we covered, but that all the likeliest places where they would have been, we were not supposed to go. Eric Tars, Staff Attorney, NLCHP "Personal Reflections"

As I sat quietly in the back, I couldn’t help but remember an interview I did with a group of homeless youth in Harrisburg back in 2006 for a documentary I was working on. They took me around the downtown, sharing their challenges and showing me where they slept (alongside the train tracks, under a clump of bushes), where they got food, and where they hung out. They spoke of staying in abandoned buildings (Harrisburg has plenty) and their struggles to stay warm and dry.

I looked out the window as we zoomed through bedraggled neighborhoods, wondering how you’d be able to conduct a decent census of those harbored illegally in this ghettoized city. I glanced at 24-hour laundromats and fast food joints, places of refuge as I’ve been told by those I’ve interviewed over my past 3 decades. We didn’t look there. We haphazardly zipped through a few parking lots, but tonight’s 10 degree temps might discourage the average car-sleeper. 

And we had no way of gauging the number of individuals and families who have desperately turned to a friend, relative or acquaintance to couch surf or sleep in a corner of the basement, without a doubt the most common way for families to survive their homelessness. (WOWM)

As we bounced over ice ruts, I tried to calculate the vast amount of resources being expended nationwide for this sacrosanct PIT count. Incalculable. 

Is it a testosterone-fueled “search and count” expedition? Maybe, in part. Is it a do-gooder’s mission? Also in part. Is it futile? The numbers speak for themselves.

HUD reports to Congress yearly, part of the ritual of proving that the meager $2.25 billion they get to address homelessness is being well-spent. The declining numbers of “chronically homeless” people, including vets, might be seen as a sign that things are working. And for some lucky street-escapees, it has.

I know lots of dedicated people expend tremendous efforts to alleviate homelessness in their communities. And I know lots of people are grateful to get their own home, humble as it might be. But…

My big issue is with HUD and opponents of our grassroots, bipartisan efforts to expand the definition of homelessness to include those who double up with others due to lack of options, or seek shelter in no-tell-motels, or camp in dilapidated rigs or in the many other permutations that I’ve heard about and seen. 

The vulnerability of these arrangements is talked about in my HEAR US documentary Worn Out Welcome Mat - Kansas. To deny the vulnerable and fragile existence of millions of families, youth and single adults in these circumstances; to exclude them from qualifying for HUD services, including emergency shelter; to keep Congress in the dark about the abysmal and dangerous lack of decent housing for those most vulnerable…well, it’s appalling for starters.

We exert impressive efforts to pursue the impossible task of “counting angels on the head of a pin” as my friend and fierce advocate Mitch Snyder was fond of saying, but we can’t find the wherewithal to make sure babies, toddlers, kids, parents and adults have a safe place to call home. I call that bogus. 

Beyond My Control--ARGH!

As those who’ve been following me on Facebook know, this past year with my new camper-van has been a tad vexing. With Tillie1, my Gulfstream Yellowstone motorhome that served as my home since Nov. 2005, I had minimal mechanical problems. Tillie2, my sleeker, upscale (MB Sprinter, for Pete’s sake!) van/home has presented a plethora of issues, most vexing the dismazingly ubiquitous CHECK ENGINE light.

Tillie2

Tillie1

Credit must be given to Tim, the Sprinter mechanic at Mercedes Benz in Kansas City. In May, my last stop here, he managed to actually fix this frequently reoccurring issue. We had a pleasant chat about what he did, an unusual occurrence to speak to the person doing the work at MB. 

Annoyed as I was to see the CE light pop up again this past Saturday, I was glad I was able to get into MBKC before I headed to North Carolina, my next destination. It’s become a regular stop for me; I’m more familiar with the MB parking lot than many of their customers are! Quiet place to sleep…but that’s another story.

Chris, the Sprinter Service Manager, squeezed me into the schedule. He brought me back to the service area and showed me the damage caused by the rats or mice that decided to chew on the wires. I had been parked at my friend Julia’s for the past 2 weeks, a place where I often spend time when I’m in KS. As I pulled out yesterday, she noticed the dead giveaway that I had unwanted visitors, discarded cocoa shells—from her landscaping next to T2’s parking spot—under the hood area.

I’m sure it could have been worse. But really, can’t vehicle manufacturers figure out a way to prevent varmints from gnawing on vehicles’ wiring and other parts? 

My only take-away from this unexpected delay can be summed up in one of my favorite quotes—I am where I should be, doing what I should be doing, otherwise I’d be somewhere else doing something else. (anon)

This delay allowed me to do an impromptu screening of my latest film, Worn Out Welcome Mat—Kansas, a look at doubled up homelessness, with staff at Kansas City KS School District 500. McKinney-Vento liaison Kerry Wrenick deftly assembled a small group in a conference room. I hooked up my computer and watched them watch this heartbreaking 20-min. video. (LINK to be posted when I get a strong signal for the upload)

I’m sitting in this well-appointed waiting room, big screen TV blaring the stuff I’m trying to ignore, as I work on my HEAR US homelessness work. Irony? Yup. But if my being here can cause at least 1 person with financial wherewithal to become aware of —and maybe do something to help— homelessness as experienced by families and youth, I’ll hire a team of gnawing rats! 

Coward or Courageous?

Last night I was comfortably ensconced in the Garden City, KS WalMart parking lot, Tillie (my van/home) parked on a nice flat spot, my shoes off, feet up, watching a movie I had downloaded earlier when I received a disconcerting text message from my Kansas friend:

"R u safe? Storms heading your way within an hour! Storm system coming from the west of you. Tornado warnings in Lakin..." 

I grabbed my iPad and checked weather radar, finding that she was not exaggerating the dire circumstances. Living in a "turtle" can be an advantage in times like this. I peeled off Tillie the Turtle's "nightshades" and jumped into the driver's seat, and skedaddled south, out of the path of the storm.

Lightning flashes lit up the sky when I peeked in my rearview mirrors. I could also see the ominous thunderclouds barreling down on Garden City. Feeling like a chicken, I ran. Better a live chicken than a dead one I reasoned. 

Having just the day before visited the jaw dropping display of the EF5 tornado that wiped nearby Greensburg off the map in 2007, I wanted nothing to do with being in the path of one. I experienced lots of guilt pangs thinking of the few people I knew in GC, and those I'm connected to by virtue of my humanity. Would the city be erased? Would people be killed? What would happen to my lot-lizard mates in the WM parking lot? 

With each flash I saw bits of the eerily moon-like landscape. The bowling-alley-straight pavement was helpful as strong gusts of winds blasted me and the few others escaping southward. Carnival-like lighting decorated the oblivious cattle-carrying semis heading northward.  

This area was desolate; flickers of light from silos and oil storage tanks the only signs of life. Oh yeah, and a neon blue cross on a building reminding me of the Christian warning of death’s power over us sinners. Not now, Jesus, not now, as I barreled hell-bent toward the unknown.

I knew Liberal was the next big city, 65 miles due south, so that was my plan. I’d find the ubiquitous Camp WM and park there. Then I’d return to GC for my meeting in the morning, if the tornado didn’t ravage this flower-oriented community.

When I saw a bedraggled truck stop in Sublette, a blip halfway between GC and Liberal, I stopped. The storm was, by all indications, 30 miles north, heading east. I checked with my KS friend who was tracking it on her computer and on TV, and she confirmed I was in the clear.

I pulled into the empty dirt lot next to this dingy truck stop haven, replaced Tillie’s night shades, and texted my friend that I was settling in for the night.

The advantage of being able to flee what could be a deadly situation was very clear in my mind. How many people experiencing domestic violence or other forms of life-threatening conditions can do that? I have resources—

My truck-neighbors and the mud hole awaiting me.

sufficient fuel, a reliable vehicle, credit cards and a bit of cash, my home wrapped around me, and the wherewithal to listen to the warning that came my way.

When a rumbling semi nestled next to me, his noisy engine running throughout the night, I vacillated between annoyance and appreciation. My weather app indicated Sublette would be in for hail, wind and rain later in the evening. My semi-buddy would at least block the wind.

Happily, I’m writing this the next morning, and not driving through the aftermath of Mother Nature’s ire. We didn't even get rain, a good thing because the dirt lot would have engulfed me 'n Tillie.

Life can change in a minute. Even with resources, one is not protected. When you’re given a chance to have another day, grab it. I’ll do what I can to make this one count!

I'm in Kansas filming a documentary, Worn Out Welcome Mat--KS on the invisible and misunderstood issue of homeless families and youth doubled up with nowhere to go. More info about my organization HEAR US Inc.

Dumb Move! Winter Ravages RVs, Even Tillie!

When I accepted the invitation to give a talk in Mokena, IL on Feb. 28, I naively hoped that winter would be in decline, so I said I'd drive up (from Kansas where I'm filming Worn Out Welcome Mat - KS) in Tillie2, my (sorta) roadworthy van/home.

I could have guessed that this weekend would mark the end of one of Chicagoland's coldest Februarys on record, and that Friday night's temps would bottom out at -9.

Even before that, the below-freezing Kansas temps where I had been parked managed to turn the contents of my gray and black tanks into nasty icebergs. I thought I sort of got them dumped during a mini-thaw, making a snoodge of room, but found out otherwise. OK, so fortunately for me, the places I've been parked have bathroom facilities accessible to me, so it's just discomfort.

All I can say is that I'm longing for Spring more than I ever remember. When I return to Kansas from Chilly-Illy next week, I've been promised spectacular temps, above freezing night and day for more than a day or two.

The good news in this winter learning experience: I've figured out the combo of how my two portable heaters can work in sync, without tripping breakers, giving me maximum warmth, as long as I have electricity. Now "maximum warmth" may be a relative term. When temps outside drop below zero, if it's above 50 inside I think it's warm!

One bleak reality I encountered at a dump site I frequent when I'm in the Chicago suburbs was the snow-covered hole, protected by a lock. The nice guy who came out to unlock it said, "We don't have many people using this during the cold winter months." Yeah, I can figure out why.

I've been on the road for a decade. I know what freezing temps do to liquids and solids. I should have known better, plying my tanks with the nontoxic RV antifreeze BEFORE February. But life interfered, now I'm paying the price.

If nothing else, it makes me better understand how people who end up homeless end up making "dumb" mistakes and dearly paying for them. And it gives me that humble reminder of my humanity (like I need it!).

It also is a painful reminder to me of how many millions of households, and house-less people, struggle with weather related challenges. Multiply my discomfort and annoyances--incalculable--for those struggling with basic human needs. Guess I quit whining now....