Homelessness is on the rise in the suburbs

by Michael Swanger

It was a moment Lindsey Storrs will never forget. As she was punched in the head through the shower door of her South Side home on Halloween night and saw the lifelessness in the eyes of her attacker - her live-in boyfriend and father of her two infant boys - she realized she had to find a new place to live.

"I knew then and there I had to get out," she says. "I just didn't think I would end up homeless."

But where does a 25-year-old single mother with no income, no family support system, a history of alcohol and drug abuse, and mental and behaviorial disorders turn for help? A call to the police landed her boyfriend of three years in jail for the night, though she blames her "infamous temper" for instigating the incident when she challenged him to a fight. And a court-issued restraining order would keep him away and buy her some time to house hunt. But she couldn't stand the thought of staying in the place where she had been brutally beaten.

A few weeks prior to her attack, Storrs' other half was pressuring her to move out with the kids. They argued about his alleged alcoholism and her anxiety over raising their two children alone with little money. When her plea for an extension to stay at home fell on deaf ears, though Storrs went to the only place she knew: the YWCA. But unfortunately, she couldn't afford the $250 room. Not to mention she didn't feel comfortable there.

"The minute I saw my room I cried and said 'No way. I'll sleep in my car,'" she says. "After that I called every housing program I could think of, but nobody would take me."

Scrambling to find a place to stay wasn't a new experience for Storrs. The product of a dysfunctional Carlisle family, she says by the time she was a teenager she was accustomed to a hard lifestyle that included consuming copious amounts of alcohol and marijuana and crashing with friends.

A series of disciplinary problems and five high schools later, at the age of 16 she enrolled in the Denison Job Corps Center, a school for troubled teens. It was a last-ditch attempt to straighten out her life, and Storrs was excelling in her coursework, well on her way toward earning her GED. She was also clean and sober.

"It was fun," she says. "It was like college without the alcohol and drugs."
The fun, however, didn't last long. One night she was caught drinking by school officials and the next day she was out the door with tears in her eyes.

With nowhere to turn, Storrs took a job with a national company working as a door-to-door magazine salesperson. It suited her wanderlust, and she returned to drugs and alcohol. The job lasted two years and she wound up in San Diego, shacking up with a sailor, working as an exotic dancer by the age of 19.

"I used to wake up in Tijuana and wonder how I got there," she says.

But when her relationship and career didn't pan out in California she returned to Iowa. That's when she met her boyfriend at a bar in Earlham. Two months later she was pregnant with the couple's first child.

"I never had that maternal thing," she says. "Then he was born and it just clicked."

But before those instincts kicked in, a prenatal blood test revealed Storrs was smoking pot during her pregnancy and state officials sent her to Broadlawns Medical Center to address her substance abuse. She was subject to frequent drug testing and was referred to Primary Health Care Inc., a group that provides health care for low-income Iowans.

Primary Health Care, Storrs says, played an important role in saving her pregnancy. But little did she know two years later they would also help her find shelter in the unlikeliest of places - the Des Moines suburbs.

An invisible community

Storrs' story, sadly, is like others in the urban center of Des Moines. But for years, unbeknownst to many, similar tales of hardship have unfolded in the city's western suburbs. The problem, experts say, is that the public is largely unaware of the growing population of homeless or near-homeless families there. They say the destitute are an invisible community concealed by the misconception that suburbia is merely the playground for the rich.

"I think people have the impression that West Des Moines is an affluent community," says Jim Cain, executive director of the Iowa Coalition for Housing and the Homeless, a non-profit outreach and advocacy group. "But there are parts of West Des Moines that have median income levels similar to lower-income neighborhoods in Des Moines and they need help."

Since 1979, West Des Moines Human Services has assisted homeless and low-income residents in their community as well as those in Urbandale, Clive, Windsor Heights, portions of Johnston and surrounding areas. Their focus is homelessness prevention and they provide food, clothing, transitional housing, transportation, emergency rent and utility assistance and subsidies for daycare to those who qualify under federal guidelines. And according to recent department figures, there is a growing need for their services.

During the fiscal year of 2004-2005, West Des Moines Human Services assisted more than 1,750 households, 382 of which were homeless. That number is up from the 327 homeless households it served in 2003-2004 and the 202 in 2002-2003.

"We've seen those numbers increase every year," says Susan Paterson-Nielsen, director. "Some people don't think that's a big deal, but it is. That's a lot of people who are struggling."

One-third of those 382 people, Paterson-Nielsen says, live on the streets or in abandoned buildings and cars. Some find shelter near Valley West Mall or under bridges and refuse assistance. The woods near the Raccoon River offer shelter for others and is a short walk away from the human services office at 318 Fifth St. where they can shower and pick up food and toiletries.

The increase of homelessness in the suburbs, experts say, is a microcosm of a statewide trend. Last week, the Iowa Council on Homelessness reported findings from a new study that showed 21,280 Iowans were homeless in 2005. That figure is up more than 14 percent from the 18,592 counted in 1995. Officials say the fastest-growing segment of the homeless population is single mothers with children and teenagers disowned by their parents.

Cain says there are a number of reasons that people are displaced from their homes, including debt caused by unemployment, low wages and rising housing costs, as well as domestic abuse, mental disorders and substance abuse. He says a number of low-income workers seek jobs in service industries in the suburbs, including restaurants and hotels, noting they prefer to live near their places of employment. Suburban homeless are also a mix of transients who leave the inner city and its shelters because they believe life is better in the suburbs.

"It's a national trend," Cain says. "The suburbs keep moving out and people are moving with them. Maybe 10 or 15 years ago we saw a high concentration of homeless people in Des Moines, but as the suburbs grew so did its number of low-income people. Now the suburbs are like the new inner city in that respect."

Homelessness takes a slightly different form in the suburbs than in urban centers, where the stereotypical image of a male hobo panhandling on the streets doesn't always apply. Most homeless people in the suburbs can't pay their rent and don't have relatives or friends to stay with.

"I've found the last thing people don't pay is the rent because having a roof is the most important thing," Cain says. "You can live without heat or water, but as soon as you lose your house you're scrambling."

Many near-homeless households are working poor families that are a paycheck or major medical expense away from the streets. Some are considered low income by federal guidelines in which a family of four earns $19,350 or less, forcing them to make tough decisions on how to pay for necessities.

"If I'm injured do I pay for my health care or my rent?" says Cain. "If I don't pay for my co-pay for physical therapy or a prescription I'm not going to be able to work. That money doesn't seem like much to you and me, but it's all the difference in being able to pay the rent."

Paterson-Nielsen says providing emergency rent funds to near-homeless families is crucial. Last month, the department applied for a $50,000 grant from the Iowa Department of Economic Development (IDED) to help pay for those services, though their request won't be processed until April. Last year they received $22,000 from the IDED.

"We give a lot of attention to those situations because it's easier to get them back on their feet in their own home than it is if they're on the street," she says. "It can be devastating to families, especially young children."

The department also operates four transitional housing units for the homeless in Valley Junction. Carole Bodin, coordinator, says the program allows four families the opportunity to participate in the program for a period of six months to two years. During that time a case manager assesses their needs and refers them to the appropriate support services, including job training and independent living skills. Adults must be employed, actively looking for work or attending school to remain eligible. Each family pays 30 percent of its income into an escrow account that is refundable at the end of the program. Bodin says it helps families learn how to manage money and save for a place of their own.

"We want them to see a light at the end of the tunnel," she says.

Act of faith

Shedding some light on what otherwise is a dark period for those who become homeless is what the Des Moines Interfaith Hospitality Network does.

A local chapter founded in 2004 from the national organization of Interfaith Hospitality Networks, the nonprofit, interdenominational group of 20 churches, more than half of which are located in the western suburbs, provides shelter, meals,
transportation and financial counseling to homeless families. It is one of the few homeless programs in the Des Moines area that allows entire families to stay together.

Some churches are designated as "support" churches in which they provide money and volunteers. Others are "host" sites, offering a full range of services including shelter and three meals a day. They take turns hosting a family for a week.

West Des Moines Christian Church is one of the group's hosts. The Rev. Randy Ehrhardt says the congregation was eager to embrace the program that provides care for up to 15 homeless people.

"It's the mission of the church to reach out to the community with hope and compassion," he says. "We've been blessed with a great facility and we want to use it to help others."

The network also operates a day center from 7 a.m. to 5 p.m., which gives families a place to go during the daytime hours. The center used to be located in West Des Moines, but moved its operations to Westminster Presbyterian Church in Des Moines last September.

Kelsey Parker, the program's only full-time paid employee, says the IHN accepts three to five families referred to them by social service agencies. Unlike most shelters that allow homeless guests to stay for only 30 days, the IHN lets families stay for up to 90 days as long as they are working on their goals outlined by the program.

"They need a place to stay so they can get back on their feet," she says. "Sometimes that takes a while."

Everyone's welcome

There are no strangers at the Eddie Davis Community Center in West Des Moines, only friendly volunteers more than willing to help those in need and not ask any questions. And on this Tuesday night, like most, the need is great.

In the kitchen, women from the Church Opportunity Group (COG) are busy preparing the center's free weekly dinner, which will serve 56 hungry people by the end of the night. The COG, a consortium of local ministries, and West Des Moines Human Services rotate supplying weekly meals. The center also serves free lunches Monday through Friday with food donated by the Food Bank of Iowa and area businesses.

Next to the kitchen, the young and old alike search for winter items in the center's clothing closet, which is chock-full of free donated items. Adjacent to that, a young woman and her toddler stock up on free canned goods in a small food pantry. Across from the dining room, children utilize the free computer lab and tutoring services. And down the hall the waiting room at the Mae E. Davis Free Medical Clinic is teeming with 30 to 40 people from all walks of life. They are in need of treatment by one of the clinic's licensed physicians and nurses who, like everyone else at the center, volunteer their time and talent to help homeless and low-income families.

"If we have it, we give it to them," says Vicky Long-Hill, the center's volunteer executive director and an attorney who provides pro bono legal referral services. "We have a no-questions-asked policy."

Since the medical clinic's foundation in 1995 and the center's incorporation in 1999, the non-profit organization has adhered to that unique policy. It provides a plethora of services to those in Polk and surrounding counties who may or may not meet federal guidelines for assistance and need additional help.

Keith Brown frequents the center. The 46-year-old disabled West Des Moines man receives assistance from human services, but lives on a fixed income and relies on the center's free meals, energy assistance and transportation offerings to help make ends meet.

"They don't care who it is, if they need help they'll do it," he says. "They're good people."

Barbara Long, the center's 74-year-old matriarch, says it picks up the slack where government relief falls short. Over the years, she says, there has been a growing need for those services in West Des Moines. An advocate for the homeless and poor since the 1960s when she started working for West Side social service groups, she denounces the stigma that there isn't a homelessness problem in the suburbs.

"We've heard that for years," she says. "But if there wasn't a need we wouldn't have this center."

The center relies on donations to keep its doors open to serve the needy. Mel Harper, who used to own nightclubs and a construction business, serves as the center's primary fund raiser. Two years ago, he started a campaign to raise about $500,000 to pay off the center's mortgage and debt. Today, the center is about $70,000 short of its goal.
"We've had generous support," he says. "To look at where we started two years ago to today you wouldn't believe it."

Though community support has increased, a sense of family has been felt at the building at 1312 Maple St. from the beginning. Maybe that's because Long's family, including her husband John (whose mother the medical clinic was named after and who volunteers there at least eight hours a day) and their children play such integral roles in its day-to-day operation. Without them, says 65-year-old Vivian Jordan, a longtime volunteer, there might not have been a center.

"The Long family has always seen a need in this area," she says. "As long as this family exists there will always be services."

Lucky Lindsey

It's Friday the 13th, but for a change, Storrs feels lucky as she pulls a drag from her cigarette and peers at the full moon outside her temporary Valley Junction home.

A single mother who was on the verge of being homeless with her two young children in October, she was fortunate enough to be accepted into West Des Moines Human Services' Transitional Housing Program in November. A social service worker with Primary Health Care Inc. helped her apply to the program. She competed with more than 20 families for the opening, all of whom were required to write an essay as to why they deserved placement in the program.

"I didn't think I had a shot in the dark," says Storrs, a full-time student at Des Moines Area Community College. "I think they chose me because I'm so honest."

However, even though she's in the program, Storrs says she struggles to make ends meet. Welfare, food stamps and a student loan help cover her expenses, including her $9-per-month rent. She relies on the kindness of her case manager and that of strangers, like the community group that gave her numerous items including diapers, clothing and toys for her children during the holidays.

In addition to those services, the program provides Storrs psychiatric care and she attends a life skills class entitled "Breaking Barriers." She says the class has helped her identify her goals.

"They teach you how to break old habits and be more positive," she says. "My whole life I've been around drugs and now there's no more partying. It's not worth screwing up being here. I have kids and I have to settle down."

Storrs says she is often overwhelmed by her responsibilities as a single parent and worries about becoming institutionalized. She also fears living on the streets when her program with human services expires. It's a life she never imagined for herself.

"Sometimes it's like a cage, like I'm stuck here with my children," she says. "I've thought of giving them up for adoption. There are rich people who could give them what they need, but I love them too much. I guess this program just happened to be here when I needed it the most." CV

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