Compassion Tempers Response to Homeless : Policy: Officials use a gentle approach as they remove about 30 occupants of a makeshift tent village in a park near Costa Mesa.

Nestled between the bamboo thickets and the elephant grass that lace Talbert Regional Park near Costa Mesa, Donna Edwards has illegally carved a home underneath some willow trees.

To conceal the encampment, the path there is a tricky labyrinth over felled branches amid thick brush that has left slash marks on Edwards’ legs and arms. To the 52-year-old woman, it is a small price to pay for a little privacy, some peace of mind. But like so much else in her transient life, the privacy is broken at the seams and the peace of mind is fragile.

Authorities on Saturday identified 29 people living in 14 campsites and arrested two men on suspicion of weapons and parole violations. The move was the first step in an ongoing effort to solve the homeless problem that caught police attention when nearby residents began to complain.

Officials also contend that crime has gotten out of hand in the encampments, which are spread among the graceful bluffs along the Santa Ana River. So authorities have vowed to restore order--likely meaning the end to a way of life for Edwards and others who have made the rustic park home for nearly a decade.

The dilemma is not new. But what makes this situation unusual is that authorities are attempting to handle the problem with a heavy measure of compassion.

Instead of just marching in and sweeping the place clean, Newport Beach Police Lt. John FitzPatrick said authorities are teaming with social workers and others to find a way “to balance what the neighbors want and what people who actually live there want.”

“A lot of it has to do with safety and sanitary reasons,” said FitzPatrick, spokesman for a coalition of city, county and nonprofit agencies working to address the problem. “There’s concern that people are living in very unhealthy conditions. They just dig holes in the ground and defecate in the area. There are no toilet facilities, no showers.”

The agencies’ approach has won praise from advocates for the homeless.

“This is going to be a wonderful model,” said Lee Podolak, president of the Orange County Homeless Issues Task Force. “I think the police are being more sensitive. They’ve come to realize that these people really don’t have a place to go, and we need to help them.”

Police are likely to use citations or “move-along” orders only as a last resort to clear the camps. But first, they allowed social workers to help the homeless find other dwellings.

In the past several weeks, teams of social workers in shorts, T-shirts and sneakers have combed through the park. They pass out business cards, medical supplies and talk to campers about possible solutions to their housing problems. Alternatives may include shelters, low-cost rentals or sharing a home with relatives. Several have taken the initiative and will be moving.

“They’re really trying to help this time,” said Edwards, though she and her husband, Tony, haven’t decided yet where to go.

Talbert is unique in that at least half of those living there are couples who may not qualify for shelters, which typically separate men and women, said Jim Palmer, president of the Orange County Rescue Mission.

The population is generally older, with a median age of about 40, and some residents have been living there for five or six years, Palmer said. Police said at least 13 have a criminal record. On Saturday, Lester Mann, 50, and Frank Borrayo, 37, were arrested. Mann was suspected of a weapon violation, and Borrayo was suspected of parole violation.

Others are employed, but they can’t afford to pay rent, which in Orange County averages $1,000 a month. So, even though camping in the park is illegal, they’ve pitched tents in the bushes and hope that they won’t be discovered.

Over time, some of their dwellings have become pretty sophisticated, including one occupied by John Goff and his brother, Charles.

To keep visitors at bay, there is a sign that reads “Area closed to protect natural features and insure wildlife. Do not enter.” When strangers do happen to stumble upon his bamboo-framed hideout, John Goff tells them in a most confident voice, “I’m a park warden here. Can I help you?”

Actually, Goff has never been employed by the park, and he admitted, “Let’s put it this way. We’re really not supposed to exist.”

But after becoming homeless about eight years ago, the pair had nowhere to go and settled upon a spot they had frequented as children growing up in the area. The brothers began taking castoffs from the area and turning them into fixtures in their hovel. The place is now equipped with a radio and television, a torn couch and refrigerator, a portable toilet and what the Goffs call their “shower--with a sky light.”

“It’s peaceful here, and we’re usually left alone,” said John Goff, 53. “Though I’m sure it won’t be long until they kick us out. We’re already starting to get the word.”

In the past decade, new laws nationwide have pushed the homeless further and further out of sight, advocates said. According to a study released earlier this year, more than two-thirds of the top 50 U.S. cities have anti-begging and anti-camping laws, and half have had sweeps to clear out transients from public facilities.

Such laws prohibit behavior such as sleeping on park benches, sitting or lying down on sidewalks or remaining in one place for more than 15 minutes.

In Orange County, where there are an estimated 15,000 homeless people and 1,300 beds to accommodate them, similar laws have resulted in places like Talbert, where transients are forced to hide out.

“The law criminalizes them for being homeless, and what it does is it just moves them around,” Podolak said. “When they get a citation, they have to appear. And if they don’t show up for court, then there’s a warrant out for their arrest. It makes it even harder for them to reenter society.”

And more importantly, experts say, the laws usually don’t work over time. For example, at Talbert police have tried citing campers to control the problem. But vagrants just moved their camps elsewhere, deeper into the woods, social workers said. As word spread among the homeless population about Talbert, more people moved in, resulting in territorial fights and unruly behavior, police said.

This year, Newport Beach and Costa Mesa police have received at least a dozen crime reports in the area, including attempted murder and sexual assault. Neighbors have complained about loitering, drunken behavior and loud swearing that could be heard by their children at 3 a.m.

“Some are really creepy,” said Lynn Nicoletti, 33, who has lived near the park for about three years. “They don’t come and steal anything, but it can feel threatening.”

Chris Riggan, 40, who lives in a condominium overlooking Talbert, said he has heard arguments over a blanket at night. Although he understands why his neighbors are upset, Riggan said he doesn’t mind the camps.

“The way I see it, anybody can end up down there,” said Riggan, a medical technician. “They’ve never given me any kind of problem.”

Nationwide, courts have struck down anti-homeless ordinances on the grounds that they violate constitutional rights, in some cases because they are selectively enforced or because the homeless have no other choice, said Kelly Cunningham-Bowers, spokeswoman for the National Law Center on Homelessness and Poverty.

A recent ruling by a state appellate court threw out the conviction of Robert G. Byrum, a Santa Ana homeless man who was cited for sleeping downtown. The court determined that the man had nowhere else to go. Though the decision didn’t strike down such laws, it offered a strong defense against such ordinances.

Police involved in the Talbert situation are taking the case into consideration, though it has not driven the department’s policy, said Costa Mesa Police Sgt. Don Holford.

“As far as that case, we’re obviously aware of it,” Holford said. “When we get to the stage or point where someone has to be removed from the campsite, we’ll have resources to assist them as need be. But we’re not close to that point yet.

“Right now, we’re just trying to get everybody on the same page and that’s going to take time,” Holford said. “You have to understand that for these people down there, it’s their home.”