Add To Favorites

Mental illness, criminal backgrounds, drug use land people in the streets of Redding

Record Searchlight (Redding, CA) - 7/22/2014

July 21--REDDING, California -- Redding's homeless problem is at the center of the public's attention.

The Rev. Ann Corrin at the Pilgrim Congregational Church is working with a core group on a proposal for a secular day center, which would be the first of its kind in Shasta County.

The Shasta Humanity Project, the brainchild of Doug Christian, is exploring the Redding area's prospects of building a village of small houses for the homeless.

Earlier this summer, law enforcement officers teamed up with social workers and nonprofits to take a survey of the homeless population in encampments. The findings, which have yet to be released, may be helpful in deciding whether a bus pass program should be established. The program would provide one-way tickets to people stranded in Redding and have families waiting for them in other parts of California or out of state.

In the wake of discussions, the Record Searchlight went in search of people in homeless encampments to learn about their living conditions and what caused their homelessness.

Reporter Jenny Espino and photojournalist Andreas Fuhrmann focused their reporting "Mercy Hill," the undeveloped area behind Mercy Medical Center that has been the target of numerous cleanups. The Redding Police Department estimates the homeless population living in the canyon fluctuates between 120 and 180 people. They are mostly men and women, some with criminal records, a history of drug or alcohol use, mental illness or complicated pasts.

The RS also visited other greenbelts in the city and spent time in the downtown and South City Park.

We share some of their stories with you.

SHANNON LANCE AND JERRY WILSON

Shannon Lance and Jerry Wilson found each other on the streets about a year and a half ago.

"One day just walking through the park, he caught my eye," she said.

Wilson, who sits next to her on a wooden bench near the post office on Yuba Street not far from where they met, pipes up and finishes her thought. "Yep. We've been together ever since."

Out in this world dominated by trouble-seekers, paranoia and public intoxication, Lance, 28, and Wilson, 37, are struggling to be different. It's no easy task.

"Every day we get people wanting to fight, wanting us to get involved in this or that. We just want to be left alone and get off the streets," Wilson said of the alcohol use and the kind of activity they see daily wherever they are. "You can't go anywhere without something being in your face."

Both Lance and Wilson, who have criminal records, trace the beginning of their slide into homelessness to drinking and driving citations.

For Lance, that was four years ago. She was at her sister's place on Cedars Road west of Highway 273 in south Redding drinking when she received a call from their mother. Get home, your dog was hit by a car and is dying.

She was about a mile from home on Old Oregon Trail when an officer pulled her over for speeding.

The cost was in the thousands of dollars in fines, for alcohol school and probation and legal fees. The car was impounded, and she had trouble getting rides to and from her job as a housekeeper at the Travelodge Redding. At the time she saw no alternative, so she quit, only to continue on a downward spiral that has gotten more complicated to reverse.

Her first night out, she stayed under a downtown bridge bundled up in a sleeping bag. And that's how it was her first few months until she met and got to know Wilson, she said.

"We're out here because we (messed) up. We made a couple of bad choices, got busted driving drunk and this is where we are at. A lot of people fall into it," Wilson said.

There's more to the story. But as he reminds her, they are not giving up.

Their big hurdle is steady employment, they say. Wilson was a logger for about 15 years, but an injury and legal problems stemming from a fight sidelined him. Lance has felonies that hold her back from most jobs, one for burglary from when she was 18. Another is from an attempted assault charge from about a year and a half ago, when Lance said she was unrecognizable because of drinking and meth.

"It's just not fun anymore," she reflected. "Just bad choices. A lot of bad choices. ... You should have seen me. ... I was strung out. Out of my mind. You couldn't even have a conversation with me."

In mid-June, the two were nervously hopeful for a break. He applied for a cleaning job at a downtown manufacturer on the encouragement from one of their biggest allies, boutique shop owner Sam Allen. She let them to use her shop's address and number to give his application credibility. But after a week of waiting for a phone call, they figured Wilson had not made the cut.

Lance said on most days, their routine includes a stop at the Smart Business Resource Center to job search. But the reality is there are only so many places they can apply, and it's a feat to arrive fresh-faced to a job interview or staffing agency when walking in Redding's summer heat.

Fast-food restaurants in downtown are sparse and many businesses are family owned and operated, Lance said.

"I've even applied at the Hilltop hotels but because of my felonies they push me on through," she said.

Five months ago, Allen began to get them yard work in her neighborhood -- this after she offered them chores around her house and they responded with enthusiasm.

On a Monday last month, Wilson mowed the lawn and Lance pulled out stubborn weeds and trimmed shrubs, her hands protected by a pair of worn-out gloves. She doesn't like for dirt to get under her nails, she said.

Allen tells them maybe they will start a landscaping business in the future.

For a time, Lance thought about wanting to be a nurse. She attended three community colleges. She studied criminal justice.

"I don't know why but I wanted to be a lawyer or something," she said.

She also took courses in mechanics, EMT, business and accounting.

"I bounced around a lot and I still don't know what I want to do."

Wilson fantasizes about going to Alaska and working on a fishing boat. Lance keeps him grounded.

"I tell him, 'You need to think about right now, that is a little too far out there,'" she said, motivating him instead to look for a position locally.

Lance said, "I have 60-year-old friends who are on the streets. They have nobody and nothing to look forward to except for that freaking beer of the day, and I do not want to be -- I'm 28 and I don't want to be 30 and be out here. I can see it getting to a point where, OK this is your life and that is what you have, and I'm not going to go there."

CHERI SANCHEZ

Cheri Sanchez cannot hold down a job.

Don't think it's for lack of trying. Over the years, the 54-year-old San Jose transplant tallies her number of jobs at 69, but short-term memory problems and an inability to concentrate are barriers. Arthritis and diagnoses for bipolar disorder and depression also affect her performance.

She briefly worked at a bank. After she came up $2,000 short, Sanchez was sure she was going to prison, she said. The matter was eventually resolved, but Sanchez was out of a job.

As part of her training to be a waitress, she was told to take management's order. When the food came out, it was obvious she had gotten the orders wrong.

Sanchez left Silicon Valley and came to Redding with her cat about three years ago following a friend excited about the cheap rent. She too looked forward to moving beyond an uneasy past in and out jail and with heavy drug use, a failed marriage, strained family ties and a suicide attempt.

"I've been shamed all my life, and I'm not going to be shamed anymore. I have a right to feel how I feel whether it's right or wrong, it doesn't matter," she said.

Despite warnings from people who knew them both -- her friend, too, was a meth user -- they made the journey north and rented a cottage on Pine Grove Avenue in Shasta Lake. Within three weeks, the place was sacked, her property stolen for drugs, and they were on the street, she said.

Sanchez said her last job was about two years ago at Lulu's on Pine Street in Redding. She was carrying trays full of food when she dropped them on the floor. Before anyone on staff had time to talk to her, she picked up the trays and walked out of the eatery, she said.

Sanchez camps in Redding.

Her tabby cat of 10 years did not come with her. She knew she would not be able to provide for the animal's care, so she gave her away. It's difficult enough for her to haul her own drinking water from the store or collect enough cans to buy herself a pack of cigarettes. Weed helps her mellow out, she said.

"I stay in my tent a lot, which is not good. I talk to myself. I cry to myself because I feel like I still look good, I still feel good, but life is passing me by," Sanchez said.

She thinks about moving to some other city, maybe Portland, Oregon, where she knows no one and thinks she can get yet another fresh start. That's on hold until her Supplemental Security Income comes through.

Returning to the Bay Area to live under her mother's roof is not an option, she said.

"Here, people accept me for who I am, with my faults. They think I'm a great lady. They think I'm gorgeous. I get complimented out here," she said.

Occasionally, she'll seek food and shelter at the Good News Rescue Mission, but she does not like its schedules and she's also filled with guilt about receiving the help.

"I'd rather have the mission help somebody out who really, really needs it," she said. "I know I need it. But I'm talking about drug programs and stuff like that. I've never been a big-time addict. I don't drink but once in a while. These people who go in there, maybe they need it more than me."

SCOTT KING

Scott King was invincible.

No matter how many times the former drug dealer was locked up, family and friends were there to help him bounce back. He took all kinds of shortcuts. If he needed to mask drug deals, his logging job would provide cover. If he needed a car, he would steal one, he said.

Finding a place to crash was never a problem. That was until the Oregon native pulled into Redding with his older brother and they became homeless for more than a year.

For King, things are improving. He received his first disability check in May and was able to move out of Mercy Hill and into an apartment. Right now, he's living in a house. Brad King, his brother, is in prison after his arrest in April for burglary.

Everything started to change about three months after Scott King was last released from prison in Oregon. He felt changed. For the first time in nearly three decades since he tried marijuana and meth, he wanted to leave drugs and go back to logging. It was Jan. 11, 2005, and he was working as a choker setter when he was hit by a 40,000-pound motorized carriage that came off the cable. He was thrown off a two-story-tall cliff, his head hitting the edge of a sharp rock.

"My boss ... told 911 to send an ambulance and gave them the coordinates. He said there is no need to send the helicopter. He said this guy is going to die on the way to the hospital," said King, showing off the large scar the accident left on his head.

Three years later, on March 11, 2008, he settled out of court for his injury and was cut a $186,000 check. But just two months after cashing the check, he was $2,000 overdrawn from the bank, having blown through every penny on a Cadillac Escalade for his mother, cars for his children and even a loan to a drug dealer.

"My mom went out of her way to say, 'My son bought me that car. My son paid cash for that car.' That was the best feeling, better than any feeling of drugs I've ever done," he said. "But to give that much money to an ex-junkie, basically a grown-up ninth-grader -- $186,000 -- I really believed I would never be poor again ever.

"That sounds like a lot of money, but let someone else get a hold of your credit card."

The way he went about spending the money divided the family.

"My sisters who I should have taken care of as they took care of me when I was in need, I didn't give them anything," he said.

One of them wanted nothing to do with him. Not long after, he was on the streets, staying at a rescue mission in Roseburg, Oregon.

He bounced around and eventually took a bus to Florida to be with brother, Brad King. But the stay was cut short and they were back in Roseburg. There, they bought a car and headed for Las Vegas.

But Vegas didn't feel like home for Scott King. So, in November 2012, they thought to come to Redding, confident there had to be a rescue mission. They'd clean up and then head up to Seattle.

They were driving on Market Street, when a hitchhiker offered them $20 for a ride to social services.

The guy jumped in the back. "There's city police going north and (the officer) passed like that and recognized (the guy) in the back seat. He had warrants for his arrest," King said.

The Kings did not have driver's licenses and the car was impounded.

"We were stuck in Redding, California," he said.

BONNIE JONES

Bonnie Jones is trying to get housing assistance but it's not working out -- something about the 39-year-old woman not being a Shasta County resident, the letter said.

If she is disappointed, she plays it close to the vest.

In a pink summer dress and with her small service dog by her side, she is a force.

"That's the hardest part about being homeless, when you've got other homeless people coming in, who don't give a damn about you and steal your stuff and bite you," she said.

She and her friends will gather at city parks. There, they doze off in the daytime. Sometimes she said she treats them with meals she's prepared.

When night falls, she retreats to her shelter. Where other campers may pitch tents within close proximity of one another, Jones was living in a remote part of Mercy Hill. She kept a knife with her for protection.

Last month, her shelter was bulldozed. It forced her to go stay with her mother, whom she had a falling out with when she took to the streets some months ago.

She was not sure how long she would be with her mother.

Before her shelter was torn down, she sat on top of cardboard and a comforter feeding a hungry puppy, her newest acquisition.

Although uncomfortable, she was matter of fact about how long she may be on the streets: "As long as I need to. I don't know."

TRAVIS REHFIELD

On a Wednesday morning in June, Redding police officer Ted Snyder and Jessica Delaney, the local homeless coordinator, visit the homeless encampments at Mercy Hill.

Snyder asks Travis Rehfield a battery of questions for a survey on his homelessness: How long has he been in Shasta County? Where is he from? Does he have a substance abuse problem or developmental disability? Is he employed?

Rehfield, 41, who acknowledges meth and drinking problems, says he's trying to get clean, and he stays upbeat after the survey concludes.

Court records show a series of drug-related arrests.

He tries to put a good front about taking advantage of resources to land a job and find housing. He's proud of the camp he and a few other fellows have set up. They designated spots for the campfire and a table. They created a makeshift shower area and a latrine, he said.

The conversation turns serious when he's asked about his family.

"I had a break-up and I kind of went off the deep end on that," Rehfield said.

He said he has not seen his children -- two boys ages 8 and 7 -- for a few years.

"Grandma and grandpa took over because we were losing our place and we were losing our jobs," he said, keeping to himself whom he's referring to.

"That's like everything to me," he said. "It makes one feel a little pathetic in this situation, being where I've been and the things I've done."

LIZ GREBER

Liz Greber and her girlfriend became homeless last December.

The two women, both felons, found themselves on the street after Greber's mother filed a restraining order against her.

"She did not like my girlfriend," said Greber, who did not identify her companion.

They carved out their shelter at Mercy Hill. Their pit bull, Eva, protects them.

"We stay away from other people around here even though we know them. We just don't associate," she said.

Greber, 41, served a three-year prison sentence on a drug-related charge. She said it was meth, and it was in her car but was not hers.

Getting off the streets will be a challenge for Greber. She doesn't have the money for a security deposit on an apartment. Besides, few landlords would be willing to rent to someone with a pit bull, she said.

"It was easy going before I was homeless. Everything is handed to you. Everything was there. I was on (Social Security Income) because of my mental state and learning disabilities," she said.

Greber cannot read or write well. "When I do read, I cannot comprehend what I'm reading," she said.

___

(c)2014 Redding Record Searchlight (Redding, Calif.)

Visit the Redding Record Searchlight (Redding, Calif.) at www.redding.com

Distributed by MCT Information Services