from Loaves & Fishes, January-February 1989

THE AGONY OF SHELTER

by Beth Doty

In early November I spent the night at the firehouse shelter as a homeless person. It was a very difficult experience for me because it confirmed for me what I had suspected in my heart all along, that this was the end of the line for so many who have always been on the fringes of society.

When I first entered the shelter at 5:00 p.m. it was already filled. The man behind the desk barked, "Name, Lady!" I was told to wait against the wall. The man at the desk turned around to finish watching his T.V. show. I waited. After what seemed to be an interminably long time the man thrust two sheets at me and said, "Follow me." He took me to a room, knocked quickly, then thrust open the door. I was glad there were no women undressing at the time. It was such an invasion of an already limited amount of privacy. There were three beds and a mattress rolled up in the corner of this tiny 10 by 16 ft. room. I was told I was to have the mattress. I inquired about pillows and a young woman told me there were not enough, that I should get a pillowcase and then ball my coat up and stuff it in the pillowcase. There were no blankets either, I was told, and I was hopeful that the heat continued to work because my coat was now under my head. Two women arrived shortly after I got settled and we made introductions. I was thankful that they had not asked too many questions about me. I discovered much during their conversation. Both women had been in the shelter for a long time. One had been there for about a year. They worked a 40-hour week at minimum wage and still couldn't make it -- rent was just too high.

When I finally ventured out I was appalled at the huge numbers of people jammed into the shelter. I was afraid because so many seemed to be substance abusers, folks unable to take care of themselves or women and children who had no means of support. After I reached the T.V. room I discovered an adjacent room where the women with children stayed. The children, half-clothed, were running in and out of the room. It was finally discovered by the staff person that the mother had left the children in order to socialize with others at the front of the shelter. It became clear to me that this was a totally unacceptable place for children to be. As I worked my way back to my room I was verbally harassed by those hanging around the door to the women's room. I entered my room. Two young women came through our room to go into the adjoining room and upon entering the bathroom announced that there was again no toilet paper.

As I nestled between the sheets, hopeful that I would be able to get some sleep, I discovered that the nightlife was just beginning. There was at least one fight over a card game which ended with the police carting off the participants, and about 4:00 a.m. one of the young women I was sharing the room with came to bed. At 6:30 our wake-up call came -- extremely loud rap music which almost stopped my heart. When I emerged from the shelter at 7:30 a.m., I walked back to West Church a changed person. There was relief that at least at this time in my life I did not have to live like that again.