It stopped
Shawn and it stopped Terry. Rural homelessness finds more
people in this revolving door than one might expect.
Unlike large cities, those who are homeless in rural
areas like Southeast Ohio are chameleons—hardly
recognizable from those with homes and meals. Small-town
corners are not dotted with cardboard boxes and there is
no physical stereotype that pinpoints those on the
streets.
And
because census reports record statistics based on how
many people are staying in shelters, rural homelessness
appears to be less prevalent. Like many rural
environments, there are few facilities that shelter
homeless in Southeast Ohio. Many stay with friends and
family—”couch surfing,” as Terry puts it.
“Rural
homelessness is just not as visible,” says Bob
Carter, hospitality manager at the Hospitality Center, a
shelter in Columbus.” People aren’t in areas of
town where people hang out. In Columbus, people know who
is homeless.”
In addition to being more noticeable, metropolitan areas
also have more resources, like funding, volunteer power
and donations, to help deal with the problem. Melissa
Levandofski, a residential specialist at Respite, an
emergency shelter in Athens, says she was not aware of
how many in Southeast Ohio were homeless until she began
working there four years ago.
“I’ve
been shocked as to how many people are homeless,”
she says. “People don’t really think about it
in rural areas, but it’s more common than you
expect—every day people are homeless and not by
choice. They’re not vagrants, they’re not out
on the street begging for handouts.”
Rural
homelessness seems concealed from those who do not live a
life wondering where they will sleep or rely on
friends’ homes for shelter, Terry says. And it is
faces like those of Terry and Shawn that paint the
reality behind the statistics—faces that do not
complain of the past or of poor fortune. They call a hot
shower a “slice of heaven,” and tell
insiders’ tricks of bathing with undergarments when
it’s laundry time. They can list a handful of
sleeping spots, all of which one might pass by every day.
Under
bridges, inside lean—tos, in alleys, on top of
parking garages—these are some of the places the
Southeast Ohio homeless have slept. They blend.
“People
in rural areas don’t normally wear the garb you see
in urban areas,” Keith explains. “They are more
enculturated, for lack of a better term. The fear factor
in rural areas is lower in general. Rural areas as a
whole are more trusting, just by virtue of culture, and
there tends to be more accountability.”
Melissa calls it being close-knit.
Rural residents tend to watch over one another, she says.
creating a larger extension of family.Terry adds that most people don’t
think homelessness is a problem in a city of 22,000 like
Athens. Besides the three staying at Good Works now, he
can name a dozen people who are homeless—even point
out a few on the street.For those without places to stay in
rural areas, shelters are scarce. Good Works serves nine
counties and the few other places that offer housing are
only temporary and for specific needs, like mental
instability. Far from the rows of impersonal cots that
characterize city shelters, Good Works seems to assume
the role of “family and friends,” providing
what its founder Keith calls, “a community of
hope.”The residents are expected to prepare
meals, do chores and follow guidelines, including a
curfew. Fifteen beds line separate bedrooms for families,
single men and single women. Five staff members are past
residents and can tell those who stay there that
“they can get through it. I did.”This is what Terry tells residents. He
was in and out of Good Works seven times since a
cross—country trip at I8 led him from his home in
Wisconsin to Athens. Now 24, Terry is rebuilding his life
with a promotion at his fast-food job and an apartment he
shares with a roommate. He talks of the future—but
more importantly. he speaks with confidence, describing
himself as motivated, a characteristic not pinned to him
in the past.“Right now, I’m doing well,” he confirms, his hair still wet from the shower, wearing a black shirt neatly tucked in. “I’m finally above minimum wage, I’m getting insurance through my new job, which is a major thing for me. Paying my rent is a major thing for me.
It is difficult to be without—not
to know where you are going to sleep or eat or where the
next day will take you. But it’s difficult to say
“I need,” he says. This is a phrase that an
estimated 700,000 homeless seeking shelter say every
night in the United Stares, according to the National
Coalition for Homeless (NCH).“Seeking help—it takes a
lot,” he nods. “Especially for people with
pride. Asking for money from the government and asking
for money from people are two different things.”Part of stepping off the
merry-go-round that kept him on the streets was admitting
that he needed the help. This does not mean concentrating
on yourself, he says, every word sounding like a coach
motivating a struck-down player. You must want help.
