NEWSBYSTEVEN SAMRA

Each year during the last week in January, "the counters" gather in cities and towns around the country. A makeshift army of volunteers and service providers descend on shelters, libraries and empty parking lots during the wee hours of the morning to count the citizens of their community who are enduring homelessness.

Most of these counters, having worked all day, are by now bleary-eyed and tired, bodies and mind grappling with the odd request to be awake, alert and energized at a time when they're usually asleep in the comfort of a real bed. Between yawns, they strike out into that cold dark night, searching for others who are themselves hoping to grab a few winks between the countless hassles, dangers and problems they encounter each night while living on the streets.

While the need for accurate data concerning the number of our community members who are forced to experience homelessness is important for many reasons, two major problems arise from this annual "point in time count, (PITC)."

The count got it's start back in 2005 thanks to the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development's (HUD) effort to provide government and agency officials with an estimate of just how many people were experiencing homelessness on a given night. Essentially, Congress got tired of throwing money every year at a situation they had no hard data on and tasked HUD with requiring those communities receiving McKinney-Vento Homeless Assistance Grant funds to conduct a point-in-time count at least every other year.

HUD requires these counts be performed sometime in the last seven days of January. The numbers obtained in the count, they surmised, would help paint a better picture of the homeless situation across America, as well as bolstering the Homeless Management Information System (HMIS) data, which Congress had also asked HUD to have up and running nationally by 2004.

A client I'm working with came into my office last week and told me he'd earlier that day been at the phone company trying to pay a bill. When he returned to his vehicle, which is an older model van/camper very similar to the van in the picture on the left here, it wouldn't start. After 30 minutes of diagnostic work, "Jimmy" discovered the distributor cap had a large crack in it.

Jimmy is a disabled Vietnam War veteran who uses a wheelchair to get around and lives on a fixed VA disability income. He sells the local street newspaper, The Contributor, to make ends meet. He recently purchased the camper van because housing costs in the area are so far out of his reach that he'd been relegated to living under a bridge, and the camper van was an ideal answer to his housing dilemma.

Having the motorhome was a huge blessing to him. Not only did it provide him with a safe, secure home and place in which he could finally store some of his valuables, it was also his means of transportation to doctor's appointments, visits to service agencies and general needs around Nashville, a city notoriously unfriendly towards pedestrians, walkers and wheelchair users.

The real problem here is that Jimmy had sent someone to the parts store to get the distributor cap and was awaiting his return when a towing unit arrived on the scene. The technician basically told Jimmy to get out of the vehicle, then hooked it up and drove away with his home.

To make matters exponentially worse, the company is now charging Jimmy the towing fee of $150 dollars, along with an outrageous $30/day "storage" fee.

Because Jimmy won't receive another disability check until September 3rd, the bill at the towing company will be so large that he'll be forced to give up the vehicle.

All this week, End Homelessness is highlighting the negative policies of various cities and the perceptions of their residents when it comes to coexisting with people struggling with homelessness. All too often, the consensus is simply, "NIMBY," or "not in my backyard." Be sure to check out our posts about Sylmar, California, Washington, D.C., St. Petersburg, Florida, Grand Junction, Colorado, New York City and the nationwide crisis of affordable housing.

Back in May, Nashville, Tennessee experienced perhaps the worst flood in its recorded history. Billions of dollars in damages to businesses and property occurred, thousands of people were forced out of their homes, and hundreds of people experiencing homelessness were displaced and forced to move from locations they had found to survive.

Three of the largest homeless camps in the area were inundated and the handmade shelters, as well as tents, bedding and sleeping bags, personal possessions and familiarity were all washed away in the flood waters. Fortunately, residents of the largest camp were evacuated, thanks entirely to two faith-based groups that arrived on the scene as water began roiling up the banks of the Cumberland River and into the camp proper. Residents were taken to a nearby Red Cross emergency shelter, where they were able to ride out the storm and the flood in relative comfort and safety.

As the waters receded and life began to return to somewhat normal in and around the Nashville area, the emergency shelters closed and those who had the resources to find alternate living conditions had long since done so, leaving only those who were either homeless or who had lost everything, including their jobs and homes, and had no way to procure housing on their own. The tent city group fell into this category because the flood waters had devastated the area they called home, filling it with slimy, smelly mud, and became contaminated from the fuels, chemicals and sewage that were carried by flood waters along the Cumberland River at the height of the flood.

At least that was the rationale the city used to ban re-entry into the area, anyway, and while there was definitely some truth to the statement of conditions at the camp, it was also a very convenient and oh so plausible excuse to begin enforcing a no trespassing ordinance, too.

So my buddy EarlyTimes (ET) comes into my little office cubicle the other day, waving an official-looking letter from the great state of Florida, home of the very sweaty newly-wed and almost dead.

"Can you believe this shit?"  ET asks.

I reviewed the letter, which basically stated that although ET had claimed he'd already paid a $214 fine for speeding, the authorities had no proof of such payment and no, he couldn't mail or fax in the proof of payment in full, he'd have to show up in person at the court clerk's window with proof in hand in order to resolve the matter and get his license back.

Problem is, ET recently began receiving Social Security but doesn't have ID so can't cash his checks, can't rent anything, including an apartment, can't fly, can't board a bus, can't do literally hundreds of things we take for granted every day because as far as the states and our nation are concerned — and with many thanks to the Bush Patriot Act debacle — ET doesn't exist; his ID is "expired."

ET's got another major problem facing him once he walks from Tennessee to Florida to get that damned ticket he's long since paid for taken care of "personally."

See, his license is expired and he doesn't have a birth certificate.

"Uh oh."

That, by the way, is a direct quote from a DMV employee at a Nashville, Tennessee driver's license office who provided that as an answer to my question, "If it takes a valid ID to get a birth certificate and vice versa, what happens when someone shows up with neither?"

I pressed him for additional info on what to do, since "uh oh" didn't seem like a very good action plan.

"It's the Patriot Act."  Said he.

"Ah shit."  Said I.

A "chronically homeless" gentleman I'll call JJ returned to Nashville by bus at the height of the "Great Flood of 2010" and stopped in at my office to say "howdy." He'd left Music City about a year ago to wander the beautiful beaches of sunny, sweaty Florida after the daily drudgery in the local Tent City became a little more than he cared to deal with.

JJ has been homeless off and on now for decades. He was a carny for many years and continues with the wanderlust spirit. He enjoyed a little dope now and then and definitely loves his beer. He swore off hard liquor after ruining his free Waffle House breakfast connection by screaming at the cook in a Jack Daniels-induced rage. The cook is still his friend but he can't return to that particular Waffle House. There may be an endorsement somewhere in that experience for the value of "tough love," perhaps.

JJ has also been receiving SSDI for a number of years, and after spending some time with him it's not hard to understand why. He's got a pacemaker, he suffers from brittle diabetes, and he's also got a couple of mental health issues going on as well; nothing major, but it does affect his ability to occasionally make "executive level" decisions.

Like so many others who work with folks experiencing homelessness, I thought I knew what was best for JJ. After all, I've experienced and survived most of the same stuff he's dealing with and, small bore bigshot that I am, I'm the one with an "advanced education." I've got the vaunted Master's from a genuine and real, not virtual, accredited university of higher education! I've also earned my Ph.D in Bad Choices at the very popular and heavily attended School of Hard Knocks. But after spending the last five years working with and for him, JJ's reminded me of a few things and taught me several more things about homelessness and the human spirit.

As an outreach and recovery specialist, I spend considerable time hunting folks down on the streets and locating "affordable" housing from an inventory of homes that is so small it would be laughable if it wasn't so pathetic. I then spend long periods of time getting the vast majority of the people I work for past the horrendous barriers to housing that haunt so many of them.

Once that's done, I spend considerably more time, gas and physical energy finding furniture, moving belongings and transporting my clients back and forth to stores, agencies and locations so that they can get fully settled in.

Great! Person/persons housed, job done and I'm on my way to the next person.

Except the job is nowhere near done.

In fact, the real work has just begun, but unfortunately, the folks who've been "placed" into housing often find themselves alone and lonely, isolated, ripped from their social network and support groups, and wondering what to do with the boatload of empty time they must now fill.

Meanwhile, outreach specialists are not only concerned but often overwhelmed with folks on the street, not in the houses, so they are unable to provide the critical level of follow-up and case management needed to fully assist with the transition back into larger society.

The past two weeks have brought these issues into glaring clarity for me, as the final three residents of some 26 people out of a large homeless camp I worked to get housed over a year ago have received their letters of "lease non-renewal" and will most likely be back on the street once again. It's a nice way of saying "you're evicted" by the apartment managers of the buildings they are/were housed in, and the reasons for the non-renewal letters are just what you might think they would be:

1.  Too many people occupying a unit — occurs because once a person gets housed, he/she feels obligated and committed to assist friends who've helped out in the past.

2.  Failure to pay rent on a timely basis — occurs because many of the folks are either; a. untrained at managing/juggling their meager Social Security Disability checks or their low wage paychecks; b. don't have any income and can't make the payments at all; c. continue with active addictions and spend their money addressing their disease symptoms; or d. experience circumstances "beyond their control" ("Joe" needed bailing out of jail and I couldn't just leave him there; "Sue" needed money to get her teeth pulled and she helped me last summer when I was down, etc.).

Starting in the early hours of May 1st, 2010, Nashville, Tennessee and the surrounding areas received the first drops of rain that would soon turn into a storm for the record books. After two days of torrential rains (each day's total surpassed what the region normally receives in rainfall for an entire summer) middle Tennessee was for all intents and purposes paralyzed and underwater.

Evacuations and water rescues began in earnest on Sunday morning.  Also on Sunday morning at around 10 a.m., residents of the largest homeless encampment in Nashville Tennessee were ordered to evacuate as flood waters turned the Cumberland River into a behemoth that was laying waste to everything in its path.

A visit to what's left of the camp this morning left me thinking about what this means for the residents of this camp, of other camps in the area that were also destroyed (at least five large ones and countless smaller camps), and for our community as a whole.

More than 100 human beings in just this one camp alone suddenly lost every one of their meager possessions. When contrasted against the backdrop of devastation and human suffering the Nashville area is currently experiencing, this barely deserves a mention; a whole lotta folks lost a helluva lot more and are waking up today homeless, jobless and wondering where their next meal is coming from.

Unlike the majority of residents in Tent City however, most of those affected by the historic May floods will rebound fairly quickly, all things considered. Local, state and federal aid should begin arriving shortly for many, family and friends will pitch in for many more, and the community will join arm-in-arm with those who are struggling to lend perhaps the biggest hand this area has ever seen. And folks around here are no strangers to disasters; tornadoes have a nasty habit of zeroing in on middle Tennessee with frightening regularity . It's going to be a long, tough slog, no doubt about it, but the vast majority of Nashvillians will be back to normal in a relatively reasonable period of time, given the level of impact they have experienced.

Not so for the folks who have been flooded out of their camps. When the emergency shelters close next week and they are forced to find a new place to go, few if any of them are going to be receiving any financial assistance from insurance companies or federal disaster relief programs. There will be little left for them to receive in the way of community resources, since everyone else needs supplies and resources too. Relegated to the bottom rung of the needs ladder, having no way to travel and/or carry anything, and having nowhere to put it once they get their hands on it will keep most of those experiencing homelessness in a state of disaster similar to when the cataclysm was at its height.

The Homelessness Prevention and Rapid Re-housing Program (HPRP) arose from stimulus money the Obama Administration earmarked to assist in ending the recession it inherited from the Presidency of George W. Bush. Part of the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act, HPRP fills a critical hole in the safety net for individuals and families who are either teetering on the brink of homelessness or are newly homeless as a result of the economic disaster the U.S. has experienced during the past few years.

So what makes HPRP so different, and important, when compared to the other often meager types of available assistance?

Previously, individuals who needed expeditious assistance to recover from recent homelessness or imminent homelessness had practically nothing available to them in the way of emergency services or financial assistance. Although programs like Temporary Assistance for Needy Families (TANF) are designed to assist families in financial crisis, many of the individuals who receive help from HPRP aren't eligible for help from TANF, or any other programs, often for a variety of reasons.

In order to qualify for HPRP assistance, people mush have verifiable and stable weekly or monthly incomes that fall below poverty levels for their respective family size. They must also provide proof of recent homelessness or imminent risk of eviction, such as a detainer warrant or court papers ordering the eviction.

The beauty of HPRP over the few other sources of assistance available is that agencies participating in HPRP are able to help remove the huge barriers to housing that people who are newly homeless often face.

To fully understand the significance of this, the progression of trouble one experiences as one heads towards homelessness must also be understood.

With the recent decision by military officials to allow women to serve on Navy submarines, women in the armed forces have now broken through every barrier -- the camouflage ceiling -- except for SEAL teams and traditional frontline combat roles.  While these are amazing accomplishments for women serving their country, once they return home the experiences and training they received while on active duty can sometimes cause them serious difficulties in adjusting to civilian life.

Almost three quarters of female veterans are likely to have experienced some form of military sexual trauma. They also have a difficult time asking for help, thanks to military training that taught them to "adapt and overcome," "finish the mission" and be "an army of one." This training, coupled with a host of other issues, often conspire to make female vets reluctant to seek out assistance for their civilian problems. As a result, female veterans are 3.6 times more likely to be homeless than their civilian counterparts and are even becoming homeless at a faster rate than male vets. (Women currently make up about three percent of all homeless veterans -- which still means several thousand of them are homeless each night.)

This makes programs that assist female veterans critical in stemming the tide of homelessness within this population. Faith-based organizations such as Malachi House International, coupled with annual Operation Stand Down events, and of course the VA, are playing pivotal roles in providing assistance to homeless women veterans, but much more help is needed.

Please, support the organizations in your community that are assisting with homelessness, especially those that address homeless female veterans; they served their country honorably and protected us here at home, it is the least we can do for them upon their return.

Photo credit: Beverly & Pack

I received a call from a local bank recently. An elderly gentleman who, according to the bank manager, appeared to be "homeless and suffering from Alzheimer's," had wandered in and out of his branch office at least four times within the past hour, each time trying to withdraw money with a bank card from a different bank.

The manager contacted me asking for suggestions on how to address the situation before he called police.

Anyone who has spent any real time on the streets knows immediately the typical fate of those who "appear homeless" when the cops are called, so when I get an opportunity to assist someone in avoiding this often hair-raising, occasionally life-shortening experience, I make all due haste to do so.

Upon meeting "John," I discovered he was trying to withdraw money from his bank account but couldn’t remember which bank he used. I was able to convince John to come with me so we could figure out where his money was.

Turns out the man was 74 and had valid ID and a local address. He'd spent the previous night on a bench downtown and had made it through the rain that passed over around 2 a.m. I got him some food and as he ate, I began trying to figure out how best to serve the man, since it was obvious after only a few minutes that although he was lucid, sober and aware of his surroundings and situation, he had absolutely no short-term memory and couldn't even recall where it was he'd last lived.