On a mission to count the homeless

We had spent at least half an hour in a parking lot by the railroad tracks in Millville, across from a liquor store, when we decided to move on to the park. Few homeless had come by this once-reliable place today.

The police recently removed park benches and a wall that the indigent used to sit on while they waited for the liquor store to open, our leader Cindy Lebron explained. That could explain why this particular “hot spot” was so unpopulated today.

It was in Millville’s city park that we found our first takers, a group of three sitting together in a gazebo overlooking the pristine park grounds and a stream crisscrossed with modern-looking footbridges.

Dorothy explained that she had been homeless since June. On this 30-degree day her thin body was buried in an oversized coat and a huge knitted scarf. Her companions were an almost-incoherent older man named Scott and a younger man who said he was not homeless.

It was about 10:30 a.m. and the makeshift shelter where Dorothy had spent the night closed at six that morning, sending its inhabitants without breakfast into the pre-dawn frigid darkness.

Our team was on the lookout for people like Dorothy and her companions. Lebron coordinates Catholic Charities’ Family and Community Services Center for Cumberland County and today her mission was to count the county’s homeless.

A bi-annual homeless census called the Point in Time survey is required of each county by the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development, although Cumberland County conducts one every year. The numbers determine how much funding will be given to the county the coming year in homelessness prevention and housing assistance grants.

Lebron has been involved in the census for 10 years. For the last three as a Catholic Charities employee, she has led the county’s “street team” side of the census process.

“I started doing this because it’s good that there’s a day where the homeless get recognized,” Lebron said. “It shows the homeless that we care. And it raises awareness for people who might not think we have any homeless in Cumberland County.”

Her teams use a divide and conquer approach, spreading through Cumberland County’s three most populous cities — Millville, Vineland and Bridgeton —seeking out the homeless on park benches and outside soup kitchens, wherever they gather for warmth or company.

The previous night, the teams had taken their surveys to Code Blue shelters like the one where Dorothy spent the night. The temporary shelters in churches and community centers, stocked entirely by donations, are opened when the county declares a “code blue,” a night that meets certain levels of precipitation or below-freezing temperatures.

In the park gazebo, two staff members from Catholic Charities’ veterans services program give surveys to Dorothy and her companion. Their program works primarily with homeless veterans or those at risk of becoming homeless.

Scott, whose speech is slurred, says he is a vet. When he’s finished with the survey, Jeffrey Kates, Catholic Charities’ veterans program assistant, shakes Scott’s hand and thanks him for his service.

Driving through the streets of historic Millville, we’re witnesses to the slow decay of a once thriving community. The streets are lined with large, Victorian-style duplexes that have been boarded up. The ruin of a large glass production plant sits in the middle of the town. When it closed, it took many of the town’s jobs.

“It used to be like a city in itself,” Lebron says of the glass plant. “Everybody knew someone who worked there.”

Now, as we drive down one street of boarded homes, Lebron tells us it was the deadliest street in town last year. Shootings and gang activity are on the rise, she says.

Even though rents are low in a city like Millville, Lebron says fair market rent is still too high for those on fixed incomes. She sees the lack of affordable housing as one of the biggest causes of homelessness in the region.

In 2013, the county had 107 homeless, according to the point in time survey. Last year, the census found 227.

Last year, Catholic Charities’ Cumberland County center administered five different governmental homelessness prevention and housing grants. They served a total of 175 households, of which about half were homeless and the other at risk of becoming homeless.

Lebron and her team stop in one of the Project Connect centers in Vineland. The centers make up the second arm of the county’s homeless count. They are advertised in the community and the homeless are encouraged to come to meet with representatives from various social services agencies, get warm, have a coffee and take the survey.

As we leave, a church across the street is just finishing serving lunch to the homeless. People begin streaming out of the church doors. Lebron pulls up her car and she and her team try to give as many surveys as possible, rewarding the takers with a bag of donated items: snacks, toiletries, a booklet of social services agencies, and the choice between a donated coat or sweater.

They ask questions like, “Where did you spend the night last night,” “How long have you been in your current living situation,” “What is the primary cause of your homelessness?” The responses range from a motel to a church; three months to a year; substance abuse to unemployment.

By the end of the day, Lebron’s street outreach teams had a count of 110 homeless from the day’s work and the previous night’s count at the temporary shelters. They have a week to continue visiting the shelters, giving surveys to anyone who may have fallen through the cracks. Last year’s street outreach count came to 92.

The numbers from the Project Connect centers aren’t in yet, but it’s estimated that the total homeless count will be similar to last year’s 227 for the county.

While the services agencies wait for the survey data to be entered and processed through the government’s fiscal chain, Dorothy waits, too, on the bench in her gazebo. Her son died last year, just a few months after his release from prison.

“I’m still waiting for him to come back,” she says. “Each time the bus goes by I expect him to get out.”

While she waits, she sits chatting with her friends, trying to keep warm in the February air.

“We’re like a family,” she says. “We look out for each other.”