Shelter Says ‘Yes’ to Homeless Youths

Bill Caldwell had heard the refrain:

“Just say no.”

He even tried to heed the warning, but finally, he ended up resenting the First Lady and ignoring the advice.

Saying no is a lot more complicated than Nancy Reagan thinks, said Bill, who fits the category of what sociologists call “homeless street kid.”

He is 17 and 6-foot-2, with a shock of red hair, freckles, generous ears and big green eyes. He looks like Tom Sawyer looking for a raft.

For a long time, he looked for a life raft, and he says he found it at an alcohol rehabilitation home for teens.

There, he found he could say no and figured out why he couldn’t before--for reasons no one ever shared.

“Not being able to say no has a lot to do with frustration, loneliness, hopelessness and fear,” he said. “It’s a lot more complicated than just saying no.”

Bill says kids like him can find solace at The Storefront, where he hopes to serve as a volunteer peer counselor.

The Storefront, which Bill calls a “shelter from the storm” for local teens, had its grand opening Friday. It’s affiliated with The Gatehouse, The Bridge and a flock of other social-service agencies tied to San Diego Youth and Community Services.

The headquarters of The Storefront, on 12th Avenue near C Street, right by the trolley tracks, was once a bar boasting topless dancing and wild nights. As the seedy Tropicana Club, it wasn’t the sort of place that helped anyone free themselves from stimulants.

The Storefront promises to be the kind of place that helps kids say no and understand why, Bill said. According to the folks who run it, it’s one of a kind in the county--the only place offering a haven to homeless kids (ages 11 to 18) who find themselves cut off from families and friends with no place to go.

Bill, who spoke to a standing ovation at opening ceremonies Friday, said The Storefront was designed to help “problem kids” just like him.

“Someone should ask Mrs. Reagan if she’s ever done drugs,” Bill said. “The reason people--kids--take drugs has more to do with hopelessness and fear than it ever did with an idle recreational choice. That isn’t why I did drugs. I did drugs ‘cause I was scared. I still am scared. People do drugs out of hopelessness. The only difference is, I have friends helping me out.”

Marty Bogan, 47, has worked with troubled kids for 27 years. He’s the director of The Storefront, which plans its official opening as

soon as the city building inspector approves the new structure. Offices of The Storefront were just recently renovated.

Bogan said The Storefront will have 20 beds and be open as an overnight shelter from 8 p.m. to 8 a.m. daily. Counseling and group discussion will be held throughout the day. He calls the target population--kids like Bill--some of the most-troubled people in America.

He said many have alcohol and drug problems, histories of sexual abuse and susceptibility to any number of communicable diseases, including AIDS. He said “staff burnout”--he has 6 1/2 full-time people ready to go--constitutes a “major challenge,” as do the kids themselves.

“These kids are really hard core,” Bogan said. “They’re difficult to reach. Some have walls around them 12 feet thick. We may fail four to six times before a kid finally comes through. And, we’ll lose a few.”

Liz Shear, 46, is executive director of the 18-year-old San Diego Youth and Community Services, one of three sponsoring agencies in addition to Catholic Community Services and Metro, the social-services arm of the United Methodist Church. She said the concept of The Storefront grew out of growing concern over the rise in juvenile prostitution.

In seeking to find out why such an increase existed, Shear said adolescent homelessness had repeatedly been an issue.

‘Incredibly Messed Up’

“Every place they go, adults have tried to abuse or exploit these kids,” Shear said. “Many have never been to a doctor, a dentist, many have never been vaccinated for anything. Many are very, very bright but incredibly messed up. We think they’re all worth saving. We’ve worked four years to put the program together.”

Bogan said The Storefront will offer an outreach program handled by those “who have been there”--volunteers like Bill will round out the ranks. In other words, The Storefront won’t wait for victims to come to it; it will go out and find homeless kids and attempt, in Bogan’s words, to remove them from the street.

He said it hopes to offer counseling, health care, recreation, employment training and most of all “reasons to say no.”

Bill said he has said no for 45 days, which he knows isn’t long.

“But it’s better than nothing,” he said.

He was tossed out of his father’s house about a year ago. He said his father is an alcoholic who objected to his son’s rampant drug use.

“I was into crystal, marijuana, everything but cocaine and heroin,” Bill said. “Later, I got into coke.”

After his father “86’ed” him, he went to Washington state to live with his brother. The tranquility of the countryside--apple orchards and mountains--belied the turmoil he felt inside. His brother, newly married with a houseful of stepchildren, grew tired of brother Bill, so he, too, kicked him out.

For three months, Bill took to living on beaches in Washington, finding refuge wherever he could.

‘Very Scary’

“It was very scary and very strange,” he said. “The scariest thing was, I knew if I learned to survive that way--and I was--I’d do it forever.”

To support his tenuous life, he dealt drugs--crystal and then cocaine. He broke into cars to steal tape decks. He got caught. Soon, he was banished to his hostile dad.

The next visit lasted a stormy three weeks, “if that,” he said.

His mother, long divorced from his dad--who, as a military officer, was rarely at home during Bill’s childhood--drove up to fetch her son. By the time she arrived, he was doing $75 worth of crystal a day, not sleeping and picking at the scabs pocking his face. (He says facial scabs are a side effect of crystal.)

“I used to weigh 225 pounds,” he said. “I’m down to 165. I’ve lost most of my muscle. I used to love basketball. Now, I can’t even shoot a jump shot.

“The worst night for me was the night I snorted up a combination of cocaine and crystal, all in one night. I hadn’t slept in a week. I felt like suicide. Along about then, I decided to cry for help. I called Mom.

‘I Was Ready’

“There’s this agonizing feeling when the drugs take hold of you. You feel a nasty tingle along your spine, kind of like a shock. You feel this rancid taste in your mouth, and the veins bulge out on your forehead. I don’t ever want to know that kind of feeling again. I didn’t talk to anybody for four days. When Mom agreed to help, she said she’d do it only if I helped myself. I told her I was ready.”

He still feels the fear, especially at night. He said the fear “crawls up” from deep inside.

He said it’s “a powerful thing to say no to.”

“Things build up inside of a person,” he said. “You feel so hopeless. . . . Even now, I don’t feel loved. I spent most of my childhood being raised by elderly grandparents. My parents just didn’t want me.

“You know, the only thing I want now is to try to help others. Because unlike Mrs. Reagan, I have been there. I know why you’ve got to say no.”