A Taste of Hunger, Homelessness

I made two stops, at opposite ends of the tracks, to see if the twain would meet.

At one end were four engaging 16-year-olds at Irvine High School, fully aware of their fortunate station in life and preparing to spend a few days this week trying to simulate what it’s like to be homeless.

At the other end was Chrissy Clark, a drawling, soft-spoken Kentuckian and mother of a 2-month-old girl. Now 38 and thinking her own high school days seem so long ago, Clark too is fully aware of her station in life--which since August has been at a homeless shelter in Los Alamitos.

The Irvine students freely concede that they are new to this homeless business. They’re among 100 Irvine students who have volunteered to give up their amenities--money, hygiene and even cell phones--to pretend they’re homeless.

Clark doesn’t have to pretend.

Does a vast chasm separate her from the Irvine students? Are they residents of different worlds?

Once, the students might have answered yes to both questions. But after briefings from homeless shelter officials, at which they learned that Orange County has 20,000 homeless people, the students already feel they understand more.

“I hope this whole experience isn’t sugarcoated too much,” says Chris Amber.

To a person, the students say they won’t treat this week as a lark.

“Irvine already has this stereotype,” Amber says. “ ‘Oh, those Irvine kids, they’re just going to get it sugarcoated and then go back to their wealthy families and they’re not really going to know what it’s like.’ I don’t want people to have that stereotype. Or think that we did a play and acted out situations and didn’t find out anything. I want it to make a difference.”

The briefing came from officials of HomeAid America, which provides shelter beds nationally and operates an Orange County office in Costa Mesa. HomeAid is a nonprofit that builds facilities like the Precious Life Shelter where Chrissy Clark is staying--and which came up with the idea for the high school homeless experiment and successfully pitched it to two history teachers at the school.

I was curious how Clark would view the Irvine students’ experiment.

“What won’t they learn?” I ask her.

“They’ll learn it’s rough,” she says, “but they know they have something to fall back on, and not having something to fall back or know what’s going to happen next is a scary feeling.”

She’s saying this minus any sign of pique. To the contrary, she lauds the students’ efforts.

It’s just that . . . “I think it’s a brilliant idea that they’re going to experience something like that,” she says. “It’s not going to be the same as living it, but it’s going to give them a taste of what the experience is, and it’s going to give them some awareness and respect for how rough it is.”

Clark says her situation is a product of mistakes she made and twists of fate beyond her control. “Everything in life is a combination of what you make happen and what happens to you,” she says, holding infant Caleb. “I never in my life thought I’d be in this position, ever. But somehow, it’s happened. But I’m so glad I’m here. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done for myself.”

She credits the shelter for, in essence, rescuing her. She spent last summer without a permanent home, then ended up in a Gardena hospital after collapsing in a Taco Bell. A diligent social worker eventually directed her to Precious Life.

The students haven’t been told how lifelike their project will be. They can figure out some obvious things--like not having spending money--but they await the particulars--like where they will sleep and what they’ll eat. They’ll keep a diary and report back to an all-school assembly Nov. 19.

For most of an hour, the four teenagers kick their thoughts around, saying they’d grown up to believe that homeless people brought their plights on themselves. They say they’ve been surprised to learn how many homeless people live in Orange County and that the overwhelming majority aren’t chronically homeless, but caught up by life’s vicissitudes.

“It’s shocking to realize it could happen to you,” says Shaista Vally. She says that awareness should, if nothing else, increase Irvine students’ compassion for those less fortunate.

I find the brightness and idealism of the Irvine students to be a soothing balm. An hour or so later, I ask Clark if she remembers high school and whether she once shared the dreams the Irvine students now have.

“I loved school,” she says, smiling at the memory of the place that was her respite from a troubled home life. “I couldn’t wait to leave the house every morning and go to school.”

Her senior year, she says, she was involved in Future Homemakers of America, Junior Achievement, Pep Club, French Club and the March of Dimes. Plus, she worked at Wal-Mart.

I ask if she cares, as a homeless person, how people regard her. “It does matter what people think,” she says. “Everybody’s situation is different, even if they wind up in the same kind of mess.”

What does she want from people? “Just understanding. Everybody’s human. Everybody makes mistakes. It’s just . . . people get in situations that’s bad for them and they can’t get out or don’t know how to get out. That’s why this place is so wonderful. I never knew places like this existed.”

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