Spring Not so Sunny for Homeless

By EFRAIN HERNANDEZ JR

March 8, 1998 12 AM PT

TIMES STAFF WRITER

LAKE VIEW TERRACE —

A weather-beaten picnic table serves as conference center, dining area, bar and bed for the homeless.

Rubin Dean Robinson, for one, sits at the table most days. He keeps the business cards of social service workers handy, shares his disgust about living conditions, cooks on the nearby grill, and welcomes a cupful of beer when one of his homeless friends arrives with a 40-ounce bottle.

Robinson lives at the Hansen Dam Recreation Area. He said he cannot afford housing because he lost his job as a maintenance worker a year ago. A new job, perhaps as an auto mechanic, painter, carpet cleaner or gardener, would be fine.

“I’m an excellent worker,” said Robinson, a slender 42-year-old with peppery stubble around his goatee. “I’m willing to get up on my feet, but it’s rough out here.”

For the estimated 50,000 to 85,000 people in Los Angeles County who are homeless or poorly housed on any given night, this is a time of new and seasonal anxieties.

The region’s winter shelters, which were open each night from December through February, are available only during severe cold or rain in March. After that, they won’t be available again until November.

In addition, tens of thousands of homeless and indigent people in the county fear losing general relief assistance this summer because of a newly enacted five-month time limit that began Feb. 1.

For social service providers, the season also means collecting data on needs. Field surveys and community meetings are being held before new requests are made for millions of dollars in federal funding. One session is scheduled Friday at Sepulveda United Methodist Church in North Hills.

In the San Fernando Valley, an estimated 20,000 people are homeless or live in substandard housing, such as unheated garages or small apartments. About 3,000 to 4,000 people live on the streets.

The mix of ages and circumstances is enormous.

Some lost their jobs because of employer cutbacks and some cannot find work because of limited education or skills. Others are victims of domestic violence. Still others are criminals or mentally ill. Many abuse drugs or alcohol.

In the shade of an industrial site at Bessemer Street and Tyrone Avenue in Van Nuys, a dozen men, most dressed in T-shirts, baseball caps, slacks and work boots, hung around last week drinking beer and listening to music on Spanish-language radio.

A few of the men said they occasionally find jobs as day laborers, perhaps working at a construction site or as a plumber’s helper. More often, they gather bottles or cans to turn in at the adjacent recycling center.

“If I go to a factory, they ask me for documents,” Roberto Hernandez, who identified himself as an illegal immigrant from El Salvador, said in Spanish. “No documents, no work.”

Sometimes the men share the $2 or $3 each has collected. They are just as likely to buy beer as food.

Hernandez, his blue eyes bloodshot and his hands covered with scars, said the liquor helps him suppress some of the sadness he feels over his living conditions.

“I am all alone,” he said with a shrug.

Hernandez, 38, said he and the others scrounge food discarded from markets after expiration dates pass.

“That food is good,” he said. “It is not bad for us because we are accustomed to it.”

Finding a place to rest usually means cozying up to the nearest tree.

“I sleep wherever I can find a spot,” he said.

Because of his illegal status, the prospects for Hernandez are not good.

But even for U.S. citizens, the current climate of welfare reform generates stress.

The general relief time limit, approved last year by a cash-strapped county Board of Supervisors, applies unless recipients are unable to work because of mental or physical disabilities. More than 40,000 recipients who are considered employable expect to lose the benefits, which for most amounts to a $212 general grant and $9 for clothing per month.

As a result, advocates and homeless said, more down-and-out residents are bound to be seen on the streets. A more desperate community of homeless may emerge, they said.

“If they have no money to pay for rent, they won’t be getting by,” said Ruth Schwartz, executive director of the nonprofit Shelter Partnership Inc.

“It’s an impending crisis,” said Bob Erlenbusch, executive director of the nonprofit Los Angeles Coalition to End Hunger and Homelessness.

Erlenbusch said advocates for the homeless hope to persuade state legislators to provide counties with funding that will extend general relief benefits. Such a move would allow more time for addressing the complex needs of many homeless and preparing them for work, he said.

Paul Freese Jr., a lawyer specializing in the homeless for the Public Counsel Law Center, said housing leads to job opportunities for the most basic reasons. A shower and clean clothes are easier to come by if one isn’t sleeping in a park, he said.

“It’s just absolutely critical to their securing employment so they can get off the streets,” Freese said. “We all hope they get work. Our experience is that you’re on general relief because you can’t get a job.”

While general relief funding comes entirely from county coffers, numerous programs also help the homeless. Even advocates find it difficult to calculate exactly how much money goes to helping the indigent each year.

The Los Angeles Homeless Services Authority, a joint city and county agency, expects to administer more than $40 million for various programs during the coming year. Most of that money comes from the federal Department of Housing and Urban Development.

Other help comes from private foundations and individuals.

John Horn, chairman of the San Fernando Valley Homeless Coalition, said cooperation by three agencies resulted in a mobile unit that provides medical attention at various sites.

Horn, program coordinator for the L.A. Family Housing Corp.’s Homeless Service Center in Pacoima, said the housing corporation partnered with Northeast Valley Health Corp. and Valley Community Clinic to create the mobile unit.

One of its regular stops is Hansen Dam, where some of the homeless told about living in the park.

Cleanup crews routinely relocate their encampments, they said, tossing blankets and mattresses into dumpsters. When it rains, park restrooms become shelters.

Even others who were once on the streets themselves look down on the homeless as losers.

“It’s your choice to be homeless,” said Ernest Gaines, 27, who was at the park recently but is no longer homeless. “I made mistakes. That’s all there is to it.”

But many others are more sympathetic. They believe that in many cases homelessness stems from bad luck, not personal failure, and they are willing to listen to the stories.

A bespectacled Isaac David Davila, his Chicago Cubs cap shielding the sun, sat at a picnic table telling of days long ago, before he lost thousands of dollars in a business venture and before he was hit by a speeding car and seriously injured. Finding a job is difficult because he has migraines and severe leg pains that limit him.

“I’m surviving. I just go day by day,” said Davila, 38. “I’d love to work again if I could. It’s not just a minor discomfort. These are excruciating pains.”

Several workers and church volunteers who bring food or other help to the homeless wish they could do more.

“Once they know what you’re about, they’re grateful,” said Kasib Abdulrahmaan, a community outreach worker with the Hillview Mental Health Center in Lake View Terrace. “Sometimes they just want somebody to talk to. It means a lot when somebody listens to them.”

But even with all the efforts to help, several homeless people who depended on the Sylmar National Guard Armory, one of the area’s emergency winter shelters, remained as unsure as ever about their futures.

“Things are going to get a little rough,” 61-year-old Pat R. said two days before the shelter ended continuous nightly availability.

She said she lives inside her rundown, unheated 1971 Ford van when the shelters close. It’s been that way for several years, beginning after she was laid off from two jobs in 1991.

Pat receives about $550 monthly in public assistance but can barely afford to eat and keep the van in livable condition, she said. She has applied for public housing.

“I can’t really make plans right now. It depends on what presents itself,” she said. “They have my application. I still don’t know how they’re going to get in touch with me.”

Pat said she had considered suicide.

“Death has got to be better than living on the streets,” she said. “I’m not used to living like this.”

Nearby, Ed was earning a few dollars handing out blankets and helping at the shelter.

Ed, 41, came to California two years ago from Georgia to be with family and find work. Any job, perhaps as a custodian or other laborer, would do the trick.

“I would like to find a job in a warehouse driving a forklift,” he said. “Nobody’s hiring. Hopefully, I can find me a job. I’ll keep looking till somebody hires me. That’s all I can do.”

(BEGIN TEXT OF INFOBOX / INFOGRAPHIC)

Lending a Hand

An estimated 50,000 to 85,000 people are homeless or live in substandard housing on any night in Los Angeles County. Among the agencies that provide services or referrals for the homeless are these:

L.A. Family Housing Corp.:

* North Hollywood

(Administrative Office/Valley Shelter):

7843 Lankershim Blvd.

North Hollywood 91605

(818) 982-4091

* Pacoima (Homeless Service Center):

11243 Glenoaks Blvd., No. 6

Pacoima, 91331

(818) 890-4034

* East Los Angeles (Homeless Service Center):

2431 E. 1st St.