Residents Object to Halfway House as L.B. Neighbor

It has been months since little Candis Stinson laced up her white leather roller skates and took a spin through the quiet streets of her westside neighborhood.

“Because of the crazy-man house, my daddy won’t let me play outside anymore,” the pigtailed 6-year-old explained. “I don’t want to play outside because of those crazy men.”

The object of the first-grader’s fears is an innocuous stucco dwelling on Wise Avenue that houses four mentally ill adults.

Since opening in December, the halfway house has become the target of a mounting dispute, sparking charges from area residents that its tenants are potentially dangerous and are shattering the serenity of the neighborhood.

Meetings, Petitions

While state mental health officials defend the facility, area residents have launched a bid to get it shut down, holding meetings and circulating petitions.

“The men who live in that house march through our streets with a glazed look in their eyes,” said Johnnie Stinson, 29, father of Candis and a leader of the drive. “I’ve seen them kissing the sidewalk and doing karate kicks in the air. I’ve seen them ranting and raving and running through the streets late at night. I’ve seen them try to climb the light poles.”

Operators of the halfway house and the four men living there, however, say such allegations are unfounded and unfair, complaining that the neighbors have not given them a chance.

“It’s ignorance, jealousy and a whole lot of prejudice,” said Carrie Judy, operator of the home. “Nobody from this house has bothered anyone in that neighborhood.”

Judy, a licensed practical nurse, has lived in her comfortable, three-bedroom house on Wise Avenue for more than two decades, raising two daughters there before opening the six-bed facility five months ago.

“People hear the words ‘mentally ill’ and they think you’re nuts, that you’re going to beat up their kids and do God knows what else,” said Jerry Anderson, 32, a halfway-house tenant. “The neighbors around here don’t understand what mental illness is. Because of that, they fear it.”

The halfway-house residents, several of whom suffer from schizophrenia, say their stay at the facility has helped them battle mental illness.

“This is a home to me, a place where we’re all like one big family,” said David Quigg, 28, who came to Judy’s two months ago from the state mental hospital in Norwalk. “Some of the neighbors are telling lies. They’re treating us like animals, like we don’t exist. We’re just normal human beings trying to make it in the world.”

Network of Facilities

State mental health leaders have also lined up in support of the halfway house, which is just one in a network of facilities that provide lodging and food to about 20,000 mentally ill adults in California re-adjusting to society after breakdowns or institutionalization.

“You see this type of problem in residential neighborhoods throughout the country,” said Chuck Skoien, executive vice president of the California Assn. of Residential Care Homes. “Nobody wants the mentally ill to live next door. They want them down in the railroad yard.”

Undeterred, scores of residents living on Wise Avenue and the other tree-lined streets near the halfway house are trying to get the facility shut down.

More than 150 residents of the largely blue-collar neighborhood, which is tucked into a nook formed by the San Diego and Long Beach freeways, gathered April 26 in the Silverado Park Community Center to air their complaints with state and local officials.

Several said they feared for the safety of their children, while others questioned why the halfway house was allowed to open without neighbors being told.

“These people are ill. They’re nuts,” said Willie Jackson, 63, a retired bus driver who lives two doors away from the halfway house. “They should be in a hospital, not in a neighborhood.”

Those complaints have set off a temblor of controversy that has reverberated all the way to the state Capitol.

State Prohibitions

Councilwoman Eunice Sato, whose district includes the westside, told the neighbors there was nothing the city could do about the halfway house. Although Sato is sympathetic, she explained that state law prohibits cities from enacting zoning regulations or taking action against halfway houses holding six or fewer residents.

But Assemblyman Dave Elder (D-Long Beach), who also attended the meeting, said he is considering introducing legislation to give at least some regulatory power over such facilities back to city officials.

“The most objectionable part of this is that the local community has no say,” Elder told the residents. “I will be pressing to have this facility closed down.”

Several state mental health officials, however, say they doubt that Elder will have much success if he introduces legislation to give local officials a say in the issue.

‘All of Them Have Failed’

“In the 10 years I’ve been working in the area of mental health, I’ve seen at least two or three bills a year that try to limit these types of homes in neighborhoods. All of them have failed,” said Joan Amundson, a consultant to the Assembly subcommittee on mental health and developmental disability.

That parade of legislation has been tripped up largely because state lawmakers are wary of limiting the number of facilities available for the mentally ill, Amundson said.

When in the late 1940s the state first began allowing private homeowners to house mentally ill people in residential neighborhoods, California’s state-run mental hospitals had more than 36,000 patients, Amundson said.

As funding for mental hospitals declined, the population in those facilities has dwindled to about 3,600. Meanwhile, the number of residential halfway houses for the mentally ill and retarded have grown to more than 7,000. Today, there are 30 halfway houses for the mentally ill in Long Beach alone.

Therapeutic Setting

Those facilities provide a better therapeutic setting than the old, impersonal mental institutions, Amundson and other state health officials say.

“It’s therapeutic to be out in the real world and not in some locked-off, white-walled facility with linoleum floors,” she said. “If you can get them out in the community and learning some basic skills, that’s the best thing you can do for these people.”

In addition, state officials say the $6,000 cost of spending a year in a halfway house is about one-tenth the price tag for a patient’s stay in a state mental hospital.

Residents are referred to such halfway houses by social workers or by doctors after they are released from state mental hospitals. The $500 cost for room and board is generally paid out of Social Security benefits; each resident gets about $50 in spending money for personal belongings.

At the Wise Avenue home, the residents were reluctant to discuss their specific illnesses or histories. Several indicated they suffered from schizophrenia.

Residents Screened

Judy and mental health officials said that residents are screened to keep those who are potentially violent from being admitted to the program.

Ephraim Mochson, a licensing supervisor with the Department of Social Services, said that often the medication halfway-house tenants take causes them to slur their speech or walk with a pronounced shuffle.

“You’re not stupid because you’re schizophrenic; you’re not a criminal because you’re schizophrenic; you’re a human being with a disease,” Mochson said. “It hurts me when somebody says a person is bad because they’re mentally ill.”

The neighbors along Wise Avenue, however, see it in a different light.

“Just by looking at these guys, you can tell they’re not normal,” said Stinson, who lives directly across the street from the halfway house. “These guys are walking time bombs. Even the mild-mannered ones could be ticking in their minds.”

The neighbors have lodged their most serious complaints against a halfway-house tenant who is no longer at the facility. Judy, the home’s operator, said the man was returned to a mental hospital after he refused to take his medication.

“This man was like something let loose out of the jungle,” said Joyce Delaney, who lives next door to the halfway house. “He’d marched more than a soldier, back and forth, flailing his arms over his head.”

Fears for Daughters

Although the man is now gone, Delaney said she still fears for her two daughters and herself.

“I’m honestly frightened,” she said. “I don’t know who else they’re going to bring in there.”

Jackson said one of the halfway-house boarders used to follow his 21-year-old daughter, Valerie, to the bus stop each day. Ultimately, the young woman started taking a longer route to avoid passing in front of the facility.

“I just don’t want to have to knock one of them (down) and then have them try to come blow my house away,” Jackson said. “I’m fearful for the women and children. And they’re doing this in the name of money.”

Jackson and other residents acknowledged that financial matters also figure in their distaste for the halfway house.

“What this is going to start doing is eroding the neighborhood,” Jackson said, glancing at the neatly trimmed lawn and carefully pruned bushes in front of his house. “People are going to start moving out. I just don’t want to stay before home prices around here sink too low.”

Several neighbors have questioned whether Judy opened the facility to make money.

One Assistant

Judy said that is not the case, arguing that the money she gets barely covers her expenses for food and other costs. Operating the halfway house in her home is her only income, she said. The state requires homes to be staffed 24 hours a day, and she has one assistant who lives there with her.