Signs of Desperation : 5 People Who Fell Through the Social Safety Net Tell Stories of Homelessness and Despair

They have become a fixture of our metropolitan landscape. These men and women loiteron street corners with cardboard signs, scrawled by hand, that simply say: “I will work for food.”

This sight is relatively new, experts say. The first “street workers” began appearing throughout the city two or three years ago. Many are homeless, and their number appears to be growing, according to organizations that deal with the poor in Los Angeles County.

They may be indicative of a shift in the population on the streets. The average homeless person has lived at or near the poverty level for most of his life. Some choose to live on the streets. Others are mentally ill.

Now, it seems, members of the working class--people used to earning a paycheck--are suffering from a slumping economy.

“We are seeing people and families who otherwise have had a perfect life, who maybe lost their jobs and have fallen through the cracks,” says Wendy Greuel, Mayor Tom Bradley’s top adviser on homeless issues.

Greuel and others caution that some of the people with “work for food” signs may actually be fishing for handouts.

“Some are panhandlers and have been panhandlers since the ‘60s,” says Nancy Bianconi of L.A. Family Housing, which runs a North Hollywood shelter.

“It would be interesting to see how many of them, when approached, actually take the work,” Greuel says.

But at least some of these “street workers” appear to want employment and are struggling against a Catch-22.

“You can’t really look for work if you’re homeless,” says Ruth Schwartz, executive director of the Shelter Partnership, which provides assistance in the development of housing and other kinds of resources for the homeless.

“You can’t shower every day. When you fill out an application, you can’t leave a phone number. You’re not considered stable, and employers aren’t interested in hiring you.”

Everyone on the street has a story. Some are believable, some are not so. Following are the tales of five San Fernando Valley people who say they ended up on the streets not because of tragedy or mishap, but because of simple economics. They look for day jobs in hopes of getting back on their feet.

A woman’s voice rings across traffic that has stopped for a red light at Ventura and Topanga Canyon boulevards.

“Help me,” she calls out.

Her sign reads: “Homeless. Pregnant. Need work so I can feed my kids.”

Sandra Rice says she has four children already.

Bundled in a maroon parka to stave off cold winds, Rice looks older than her 41 years. Her children are living with a friend while she is on the streets. Her bed is in the bushes beside a nearby freeway on-ramp.

During the day, she stands on the boulevard or, if it gets too cold, she sits in a nearby Laundromat. People hire her for day jobs once or twice a week.

“Mostly I get housekeeping work and sometimes gardening,” she says. “It’s harder now that I’m pregnant.”

Before landing on the streets, she was surviving on food stamps and odd jobs. Her landlord evicted her when she fell behind on rent, and Rice, as Greuel put it, quickly slipped through the cracks. Months have passed since she last received social assistance.

“Half the people who come to us have no understanding of the welfare system,” according to Bianconi of L.A. Family Housing. “They have all sorts of misconceptions and believe they won’t be helped.”

Rice plans to reapply for welfare.

“But you need more than a couple hundred bucks,” she says. “Unless you’re smart, you can’t get off the street.”

So she takes her sign to the boulevard, jabbering at the cars that go past. On a Friday evening, a number of people stop to give her money, but no one has a job to offer. Most drivers ignore her.

“You get people who roll up their windows and lock their doors,” she says. “I don’t blame them. They don’t know who’s who. But there are legitimate people out here who are homeless and want to work.”

Chris Santori sleeps behind the same Reseda Boulevard supermarket that he used to shop at. He is a mechanical engineer who, in past years, worked for a number of companies. According to officials at Mattel Toys, he worked for them as a toy designer in the early 1980s.

His problems began, he says, a year ago when he was between jobs and lost most of his savings in a divorce settlement. The 36-year-old man bounced a large check and ended up in jail for a few months.

“I got out on the street with just the clothes on my back,” he says. “I’m just trying to get a few things back together so I can get a job. I’d like to get back into engineering because I have a heck of a background and some good references.”

Standing in the morning sun along Nordhoff Street, holding his cardboard sign, Santori speaks with the vocabulary of a college-educated man. But rough edges show through. He says that before he bounced the check, he “never had any priors” and had never “been inside.” He says it’s tough to land a job when you can’t list a home address on the application.

“I can’t go to an interview looking like this, wearing these clothes,” he says of his jeans and shirt, which are clean but faded.

People stop to give him donations. He appreciates the generosity, but would rather have a job.

“If I get donations, it’s only $5 or $10 a day, which keeps me alive,” he says. “If I work, I can make $40 or $50 a day, and if that happens for a couple weeks straight, I can elevate myself. I can get some new clothes and find a job.”

But it’s tough to be optimistic, he says, because times are tough.

“You hear of a lot of people who get laid off and they can’t make rent,” he says. “People in this country are more concerned with what is happening in other countries. They’re ignoring what’s happening here. It’s time they opened their eyes.”

A spotted mutt sleeps on the sidewalk.

“I inherited him from another homeless guy,” George says, opening a can of dog food and emptying it into a bowl. “My last 70 cents.” His pet, Z.Z., perks up.

George, who refuses to give his last name, says he used to lay floors but stopped working after he got hit by a car and had a steel rod put in his leg. The zipper-like scar shows through a tear in his jeans.

On a Wednesday morning, he sits in a gas station with his sign propped against a wall. He has been out of work and on the streets for eight months.

The experience has etched itself on his face. His hair is unkempt and his beard untrimmed. His flannel shirt looks as if it has been soaked in motor oil.

“All the people driving by in their BMWs and Porsches look at me like I’m a piece of trash,” he says. “They don’t realize that they could end up here.”

George gets yardwork sometimes, or paints a fence. His plans do not extend beyond scrounging enough money for the next meal. At night, he sleeps beside the same on-ramp that Rice does.

“I don’t starve. I get by,” he says. “I’ve got a sleeping bag and a dog. There are a lot of people around here with less than that.”

Two other homeless men sit on the wall nearby, their possessions stored in shopping carts. In the past, when they have left their things in the bushes, Caltrans crews have come during the day and taken them.

“I’ve got nothing against people from other countries, but so many of them come here and the government gives them loans to buy 7-Elevens,” George says. “It’s not fair.”

An old man teeters on a narrow island between lanes of rushing traffic. He holds a sign that says, “Social Security Cut Off--Need Help.”

“I feel like a deadbeat,” he says. “I worked all my life for the county and retired when I was 68. Then I had a stroke. Then I had a heart attack. When I worked for the county, I used to cuss at the panhandlers.”

Lester A. King is 69. He claims that because of a paperwork foul-up, his Social Security was stopped and he was denied food stamps and Medi-Cal. Like many people on the streets, he’s not savvy when it comes to working the system and has given up on social assistance.

His county pension pays $400 a month. Most of that goes to a space he rents for the camper van he lives in. Less than $80 remains for food.

“We’ve never had such a crunch between what people can afford to pay for rent and what rent costs,” according to Schwartz of the Shelter Partnership. “Prices for the basic necessities have skyrocketed.”

King says he has a son who lives in Oregon, who he hopes will come get him someday. Short of that, the man harbors little hope for better times.

“As long as the Republicans run the country, we’re not going anywhere. I’m not saying the Democrats are all that good either. But the Republicans, they don’t do anything for someone like me.”

So he stands at a different corner each day, trying to keep a step ahead of the police who roust him if he frequents one spot too long. On this morning, he picks Vineland Avenue in North Hollywood. A woman in a white Oldsmobile lowers her electric driver’s door window and hands him a few dollars. One day, he says, he collected $192 in handouts.

“One time I went for five days without eating. That’s when I started doing this,” he says. “It’s beneath my dignity, but if you get hungry enough, you’ll do anything.”

It’s nearing 5 o’clock as people leave a Northridge shopping center to reach home in time for dinner. A procession of station wagons and sedans files out the driveway. Dennis Wilson is sitting at the curb, holding up his sign that asks for work.

“Usually people need someone to rake up leaves or do odds and ends,” says the 28-year-old man. “I got a job a couple weeks ago from some people who had a carnival at their church and needed the booths torn down.”

A year ago, Wilson was working as a machinist and paying $500 a month to live in a small house, he says. He was laid off and quickly fell behind on the rent. Now, with no prospects for employment, he is hoping to get into a Salvation Army program that offers job skills training.

In the meantime, he goes home to a nearby makeshift residence.

“I sleep on the sidewalk by a church,” he says. “They don’t bother me there. All I have to do is get up and be gone by the time the preschool opens.”

If he’s lucky, he’ll make $30 for a morning’s work. Otherwise, people may give him a few dollars during the day--it’s enough to buy food and a beer.

“Sometimes the people go to their house and bring me back a couple sandwiches,” he says.

Wilson has been on the streets for five months. His clothes are old but not yet dirty. He is a young-looking man with long, straight, black hair and a broad face. The police don’t bother him as long as he stays on the outskirts of the parking lot.

People leaving the shopping center aren’t always so kind.

“Some of them will cuss and swear at you,” he says. “They don’t understand that I don’t like doing this at all.”