In search of the hidden homeless

SUNNYSIDE, Wash. -- Luis is among the hidden homeless.

The 18-year-old says his mother kicked him out of their apartment earlier this month because he clashed with her boyfriend.

After three nights on the streets, he moved into a friend's spare bedroom, paying her and her mother a little rent and helping with the chores.

He's satisfied, if a bit embarrassed.

"It's going great so far," said Luis, a Sunnyside High School senior who asked that his real name not be used.

While he disagrees with the label, he's considered homeless, said Tim Sullivan, housing and homeless program manager for Yakima County.

And he's not alone.

The Sunnyside School District has 231 students it defines as homeless.

Sullivan and other social workers are now reviewing results of Thursday's annual Point in Time homeless survey, closely watching Luis's elusive category -- those who stay with family and friends, as opposed to sleeping outside, in vehicles or in shelters.

They are called the hidden homeless and, like Luis, many don't use the term on themselves.

"It would never even cross their minds because they have a roof over their heads and a warm meal," Sullivan said.

But their unstable and temporary living arrangements -- sometimes called couch surfing -- could end at any time.

It's a type of homelessness that's common to the Lower Valley and is hard to find and measure. When two cold-weather homeless shelters opened in Sunnyside churches this month, they attracted few takers.

"It's not the homeless that we picture," said Phil Schenck, Sunnyside deputy police chief. "People are going to say there's no homeless in Sunnyside. That's not true."

Statistics surprised the Point in Time survey organizers last year. For one thing, Sunnyside ended up with more homeless overall than Yakima.

But of the 498 people identified as homeless in Sunnyside, 61 percent said they were staying with family and friends. Toppenish reported a similar rate though had fewer homeless overall.

In Yakima, 24 percent reported the same living arrangements.

Officials blame the lack of permanent jobs and affordable housing in the Lower Valley and better survey techniques.

Anna Campos' family will be among this year's statistics after she was surveyed Thursday in the single-room motel she shares with her five children, some of whom sleep on the floor.

The 37-year-old mother has been staying month-to-month in the cramped quarters for more than a year after leaving a relationship she called abusive.

She does consider herself homeless because she has tried to find a bigger place.

"It's too small and I can't afford to buy any extra beds," she said of her motel room.

Campos, who has lived in Sunnyside since 1982, has worked off and on in food warehouses, farms, a store and restaurants. She currently receives state welfare payments but is taking GED classes.

Not all agencies would define Luis and Campos as homeless. They don't meet the federal Department of Housing and Urban Development's definition of homeless.

But that is changing.

Last year, Congress passed the HEARTH Act, which paved the way for more homeless programs to include those in temporary living situations with certain restrictions.

Nationwide, homeless advocates say couch-surfing is just as precarious as traditional homelessness, especially to families.

"The motel and dangerously doubled up living situations that so many homeless children, youth, and families face are every bit as damaging to families and destabilizing for children as living in a shelter," according to a statement on the National Policy and Advocacy Council on Homelessness Web site.

Sunnyside has traditional homeless, too.

"There are still a lot of street-walking homeless people," said Dave Hansen of Sunrise Outreach, who organized the two Sunnyside shelters.

Sometimes they hold cardboard signs outside the Walmart parking lot or hunker under tarps in vacant lots. Some are local, some are just traveling through, said Schenck of the Sunnyside Police.

Couch surfers, whether they call themselves homeless or not, struggle with society's curveballs.

Some are women fleeing domestic violence, said Julia Hart, executive director of the Lower Valley Crisis and Support Services. The women, often mothers, live with a friend for as long as the friend tolerates.

"After a while her friend decides you can't live on my sofa any more," said Hart, who is coordinating the Sunnyside count this year.

Homeless students are more likely to drop out, repeat grades or skip school when they spend their days looking for a place to spend their nights, said Sam Ramirez, the Sunnyside School District homeless liaison,

"I think they're focused more on that than on their studies," Ramirez said.

With the help of federal funding, the district employs seven home visitors who help the district's 231 homeless students with rides, clothes shopping and the occasional vouchers for brief hotel stays.

The home visitors say the hidden homeless are hard to find. They sometimes knock on four or five doors a night just to deliver a message about a disciplinary or attendance problem. Some parents move so often they register at school with post office boxes instead of street addresses.

Some don't want to be found because they fear state Child Protective Services, said Elizabeth Garcia, a home visitor.

Home visitors tell stories of five families under one roof, where children have no quiet place to study. Some mothers are so afraid to overstay their welcome, they hardly let children out of the single bedroom they all share.

They say they find only a fraction of these situations.

"We don't know a whole lot of the kids unless they come to us," said Dora Barraras, a home visitor.

That's how they found out about Luis.

Luis told almost nobody about his situation. When friends asked, he just told them he had moved.

"I was embarrassed," he said.

It was Jan. 15, a Friday, when Luis, the oldest of three brothers, left his mother's apartment -- for good, he said.

Luis said he has not seen his father since the second grade, and extended family members abuse drugs and alcohol.

So he spent the weekend sleeping on a playground slide, pulling his parka above his head to keep out the rain. He ate his meals at the Sunnyside restaurant where he works.

Luis found a place to live with his childhood friend and her mother by Monday.

He finally confided in his favorite teacher, a welding instructor, who let administrators know so Barraras could help him.

He likes his living arrangement. His friend helps him with his math homework, while her mother asks him how his day went.

Luis plans to stay for the rest of the school year, saving up for his own apartment and welding classes at Columbia Basin College in Pasco.

"They told me as long as I need," he said.

* Ross Courtney can be reached at 509-930-8978 or rcourtney@yakimaherald.com.