Christina Davidson

Ohio Psychic Predicts Multi-Dip Recession

2009-11-20T16:10:57Z

I'd hoped the psychic would be wearing a colorful flowing gown, headscarf, and jangly gold bangles like the woman pictured on a sign in front of the otherwise nondescript little white house in Sandusky, Ohio. But the psychic who answered the door looked more like a librarian than a gypsy.

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Mrs. Star would rather talk about me than the economy, but after nearly six months on the road alone, I bore myself. She will say that the recession is "so, so, so bad for so many people." Her own business has stayed steady throughout, though her clients these days have lost interest in love, all wanting to know the future of their finances.

I ask if she sees the recession ending. "It may look like its getting better, but it's going to be like this for a long time," she replies, using her finger to illustrate ups and downs. "How long?" I ask. "Long time," she repeats.

By recounting Mrs. Star's predictions, I'm not suggesting that self-professed psychics should guide our thinking on the future. Considering the failure of most economists and experts to predict the economic downturn, however, I'm as likely to believe Mrs. Star as I am CNBC.

As for my personal reading, she does pick up on a couple of things with surprising accuracy. The first thing she says is that I've been moving at too fast a speed and am exhausted. "You don't need to be a psychic to see that," I think to myself.

But my inner chuckle stops when she continues on to say that because of the speed I'm moving and how much I've been working, I've recently started getting headaches. "I see real pain," she says, putting her hand to the right side of her head. "You're working through pain."

She could have just gotten lucky, but that is surprisingly accurate. Since getting rear-ended in Seattle last month, it has been like my whiplash flares up on occasion, giving me pain in the back right side of my head and jaw. Treatment has to wait until I get back to D.C. and the prescribed muscle relaxers make me too fuzzy-headed to write, so, yes, I have been "working through pain" because I can't slow down to address the problem.

She tells me that I'll be getting some kind of financial document in the mail that requires my signature, which reminds me that I do have something like that in my e-mail inbox that I need to print out, sign, and fax by Friday.

Mrs. Star also says that I focus too much on others, and that I inform too many people about everything that's going on in my life. I wait until the end to tell her that's kind of my job.

According to Mrs. Star, I'll be taking a "small trip" in the next few months. By comparison to the Recession Roadtrip, anywhere I go in the months afterward would be a small trip.

In the best news she has to offer, Mrs. Star tells me that she sees money coming to me after the first of the year. Hopefully, that will be in the form of a fat book advance.

To close my reading, Mrs. Star offers this advice: "You need to slow down, rest more, eat right, and exercise." I promise her I'll do all those things, starting the day I get back to D.C.

(Photo: David Sifry/Flickr)

Recession Pressure on Labor Rights

2009-11-19T16:52:46Z

The US 12 Bar and Grill in Wayne, Michigan has an unusually-timed happy hour. Drink specials start at 9 pm, scheduled to attract local auto workers getting off second shift. For $3, the bartender pours me a full rocks glass of Grand Marnier. I appear to be the only female patron in the bar, which perhaps explains why the guys tolerate my incessant questions about how the recession has affected their industry and labor contracts.

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In Jencks's experience, companies are using the current economic environment to justify excessive concessions from organized labor, effectively squeezing the working man to further enrich the executive class. And because a pervasive fear of layoffs looms over any contract negotiation, unions are agreeing to deeper concessions than they otherwise would. As a result, Jencks said, the recession is essentially handicapping the labor movement and erasing decades of hard-fought progress.

The half-drunk auto workers I hung out with at US 12 would agree with part of what Jencks said, but they take a dimmer view of their own labor representatives at the United Auto Workers. "I think the union is in bed with the company," Frank says bluntly. The brawny smooth-scalped Ford worker, incongruously sipping from a bottle of Bud Light, has enough sense to ask I don't use his real name. The UAW would "blackball" him for speaking out about what he and his co-workers think about their union.

A few weeks ago, Ford workers voted down a contract modification that the UAW had negotiated and urged them to support. Though their contract was not due for re-negotiation until 2011, Ford and the UAW said the concessions--involving vacation time, over-time, health benefits and entry level wages, among other things--were necessary to maintain competitiveness with Chrysler and GM, whose workers voted to accept similar changes earlier this year as their employers were verging on bankruptcy.

The contract modification was roundly defeated across the nation, in a few locations those opposing it reached 90%. Outside analysts have suggested the measure failed because Ford workers believe their company's avoidance of bankruptcy makes the concessions excessive and unnecessary--essentially penalizing the auto maker for its success. However, according to Frank, those voting against the contract modifications at his plant in Rawsonville generally turned on one single issue unrelated to wages or benefits: the right to strike.

Throughout the history of the labor movement, strike action has been the trump card of unions, providing the teeth for collective bargaining. Striking represents a basic philosophical essence of organized labor. The concessions UAW negotiated with Ford included a clause that would have required binding arbitration to resolve any disagreements over wages or benefits at the 2011 contract re-negotiation with Ford. "What's a union without the right to strike?," Frank demands to know. "That's like sending your soldiers off to battle after turning your weapons over to the enemy."

That was only the first detail that began to spark Frank's suspicions that the UAW had become company men. What really convinced him was the scheduling of the contract vote, which occurred the week prior to Ford's announcement that its third quarter turned a profit of nearly $1 billion. "They're all in cahoots with the company," Frank concludes. "Why would they schedule the vote the week before the third quarter announcement? What kind of shit is that? It makes me wonder about my union. The vote's a big slap in the face of [UAW president] Ron Gettlefinger. He's supposed to be working for the people, not for the company."

The vote failed anyway, nationally with about 70-75% opposed, but Frank believes the margins would have been even bigger had the UAW held the vote after Ford announced a $1 billion profit. In his own peculiarly creative way, Frank explains: "I understand they have to pay the bills, but why does the worker get a peanut and the company get the elephant? Why can't they both get watermelons?" (It was getting late.)

Frank's plant in Rawsonville voted down the measure by only about 5%, primarily because Ford had guaranteed the creation of 2000 new jobs manufacturing hybrid batteries for the Ford Focus. Since that's now up in the air, I ask Frank if he's concerned Ford would create those jobs down in Mexico instead. He believes it would cost Ford more to build the manufacturing facilities down in Mexico than the company would save on labor costs. Also, he thinks Ford wouldn't risk the negative PR they'd receive for creating jobs in a foreign country during a time when so many Americans are unemployed.

One of the guys decides it's time to order a round of double-shots of Jack, so I shove my notebook in my bag and say goodnight. Leaving US 12, I walk an indirect route to the car, slinking behind an F-150 and making sure no one is watching before I jump into my rented Toyota Prius.

(Photo: Diego Rivera's Detroit Industry, via pigliapost/Flickr)

Have Small Business, Need Health Insurance

2009-11-11T15:55:52Z

Darwin and Laura Moore know things could always be worse. The aneurysm Darwin had earlier this year may make him now un-insurable and unable to afford scheduled follow-up care, but it could have killed him. The area's 15% unemployment rate made it impossible to land any job, much less one with health benefits, but that steered the couple's path into achieving their dream of owning a small business--even if they had to finance its purchase with credit cards.

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I walk into Turnaround Bargains to inquire about the signs, explaining that I'm a writer traveling the country to document the recession's human impact and was wondering if these people had been laid off and subsequently lost insurance benefits before their health failed. The couple working behind the counter only bought the shop two weeks ago and didn't know the stories behind the flyers: "But that sounds like us," Laura Moore says with a wry chuckle.

Darwin Moore used to make a good income as a semi-truck driver--enough so the family never had to worry much about bills and Laura could be a stay-at-home mom for their three children (now 15, 12, and 7). "We used to be able to do whatever we wanted," Laura recalls nostalgically.

Then one Sunday evening in June 2008, just after they'd thrown steaks on the grill, Darwin's boss called with the bad news. The trucking company had gone bankrupt. After 12 years working a job he thought would last until retirement, Darwin was told the only reason to come in Monday morning would be to fill out paperwork for unemployment. "You have no idea how hard it was to chew those steaks," Laura remembers.

Faced with quickly rising unemployment in northeastern Indiana, Darwin and Laura both launched job hunts. In October, Laura landed a position in the business office of Indiana Tech--only part-time, unfortunately, since a full-time hire would require benefits. "Nobody wants to pay benefits if they don't have to," Laura says. "If they can get away with it, they will."

Darwin got a new trucking job in November, which did come with full benefits. The health insurance kicked in on day 60. On day 65, Darwin ended up in the hospital, rushed into emergency surgery for an aneurysm, which was caused by the growth of a cerebral malformation--a clustered tangle of blood vessels in his brain.

If the crisis had occurred one week earlier, hospital bills well into six figures would have pushed the Moores into bankruptcy and likely led to loss of their home. They couldn't have afforded any follow-up care.

An angiogram two weeks ago showed the aneurysm was growing again because of the cerebral malformation, but the doctor said it would create a bigger risk to address it surgically right now, deciding to just evaluate it again at Darwin's next exam. Unfortunately, Darwin won't be covered for any future angiograms, MRIs, or CAT scans.

Driving is not allowed to drive for one year after an aneurysm, so Darwin lost his trucking job after his health crisis. Their COBRA reduction period is coming to an end, so their standard COBRA premium will jump to $1,200 next month. "Unless Obama throws in something in the next month, I don't know what we're going to do," Laura says. They can afford coverage for her and the kids, but not for Darwin, who probably needs it most under the current circumstances.

"I'm uninsurable now," Darwin explains. Even if not rejected for a pre-existing condition, private insurers can use his medical history to justify unaffordable monthly premiums. Darwin says a couple of hours in the hospital for another angiogram, MRI or CAT scan would cost thousands of dollars. "Unless Obama gets his thing changed that he wants changed, I'm just not going to go back."

"We can't rack up medical bills like that," Laura explains. "It would sink us."

Rather than getting critical follow-up exams that would show whether or not his aneurysm is continuing to grow, "We're just going to have to hope for the best," Darwin says with a shrug.

"We can't afford for them to go back in and look," Laura adds.

If either of them could get a job that provided health coverage, Darwin would receive the scheduled monitoring that could prevent another major medical crisis, or worse. But few such jobs exist these days.

Laura just started a new position working as a teacher's aide at her youngest son's elementary school. Its added benefit is the schedule and convenience for picking her kids up after school, but it's also part-time with no health insurance.

Following his recovery, Darwin began looking for a new job in June. Despite his relentless campaign of applications for all variety of employment, he never even received a call back for an interview. In an area that suffers from 14-15% unemployment, "Every time there's an opening, there's 500 people there to apply for it."

He even began looking far beyond the borders of Indiana. I hadn't told him about Ben Robertson when he mentioned having looked at a North Dakota jobs website because, as Darwin echoed in a weird moment of deja vu for me: "I thought we're going to have to go where the jobs are."

Then in September he came across a Craigslist ad offering sale of the little thrift shop in downtown Kendallville, only 20 minutes from their house. "When we saw it, we knew it was what we wanted to do. We were real excited," Laura recounts.

The deal required they take over the lease on the shop space and purchase the store's entire existing stock for $14,000. They couldn't get small business financing for a cache of used goods, so they charged it. Unless they're late on a payment, the credit card interest rate should stay at 12.99%.

The balance will be paid off as aggressively as finances permit, though Darwin acknowledges they've taken a big risk: "But I figure if I'm gonna go broke sitting at home doing nothing, I might as well take a risk on going broke doing something big."

Considering the confluence of unfortunate events that eventually led them to this new opportunity, Laura believes the forces at play were more deliberate than happenstance: "God does everything for a reason, and steering you the ways things should go. Maybe this was our reason--so we could do something like this."

"I used to like to collect stuff, so this is kind of an adventure," Darwin says. They've cut prices to move a larger volume of goods, and plan to raise the quality standards of their stock. If they maintain the level of sales they've had in the past two weeks, the business should do just fine.

The Moores are ambitious, hard-working, and optimistic about their future. Their only major anxiety these days stems from concern for Darwin's health and their inability to secure affordable private insurance for him.

As the health care debate in Washington rages on in the abstract, for Darwin and Laura--and millions of others like them--the consequences could be painfully personal. As Laura explains: "You hear people complaining about the health care reform and you want to say walk in our shoes for awhile. Walk in the shoes of someone who has lost their benefits."

NOTE: Some readers may have noticed I skipped forward to Indiana without posting my massive story exposing alleged mortgage fraud and shady real estate dealings in Chicago. Don't worry, that piece will be forthcoming. Since it contains allegations about criminal wrongdoing, it must go through fact-checking and legal review before posting.

Editor's Note

2009-11-05T21:26:50Z

On September 24, Recession Road Trip wrote about Charles Zimmerman, a 60-year-old former soldier who, together with his wife, was newly homeless in Sacramento. Zimmerman had been the subject of a post a week earlier that described his efforts to get the military to pay him his pension, which he said had been caught in red tape for years. Now, we reported, in the aftermath of our first post, Zimmerman said he had been approached by an Army official who promised him a check for $972,000, back pay for the 18 years since his retirement.

Shortly after the September 24 post, we were doing follow-up reporting on Mr. Zimmerman's story in preparation for a new post. During this process, we became concerned about some aspects of his account. On October 19, we posted an update (scroll to bold type) describing these concerns and detailing the new efforts we were taking to verify our previous posts. Those efforts are still underway, and we will report back fully when we have satisfactory answers. In the meantime, we can confirm that Mr. Zimmerman did serve in the Army, but not that he has been promised or has received any new pension payments as a result of his service.

The Great Wall of Foreclosures

2009-11-04T15:56:19Z

What began as limited exploration into a small example of possible mortgage fraud in Chicagoland has spiralled out formidable leviathanic tentacles now taking residence across two walls of my hotel room. I've looked progressively more pale and bewildered every time I venture out for sustenance, always stopping by the front desk to re-confirm that housekeeping will not touch my room. I ran out of clean towels yesterday. They probably think I'm cooking meth.

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The three properties a source originally led me to appear fairly straightforward examples of the kind of over-appraisal scheme Richard Hagar taught me about back in Oregon, but the apparent complexity of the big picture currently papering my walls boggles a weary mind. It involves whole buildings of condos once maintained and ready for inhabitants, now boarded up and vacant, rapidly falling into decrepitude--a kind of recession-era blight not uncommon in many communities across the country. Unscrupulous greed sloughs off these empty shells of human habitation far too often, which made it a challenge to even look away from my computer screen after jumping into the wormhole running through Chicago neighborhoods.

Even after five days of trawling public records, I feel like I've just entered the anteroom of a monstrous maze. When the full story is ready to post, I'll upload all my documents and notes with it, in case any readers want to keep digging.

For now, I need a shower.

But first, I need a clean towel.

Will Work for Commercial Real Estate Financing

2009-10-29T18:50:37Z

In nearly five months of driving highways and byways across the country, "Going Out of Business" signs have seemed a standard element of the modern American landscape. I barely notice them anymore, even those hued in sense-shocking shades of florescent with four-foot letters screaming "EVERYTHING MUST GO!". At the 243 T-junction entering Osceola, Wisconsin, I make an uncharacteristically complete stop as my mind demands processing time for the unusual sight of a "Grand Opening" banner.

]]> Tippy Canoes. My planned route turned south at Osceola, but plans change when there's a party to attend, so I head north to go find out how the owners have managed to launch such an endeavor under the current economic circumstances.

Pulling into the packed parking lot of Tippy Canoes, I can hear Duran Duran's "Hungry Like the Wolf" blasting from a canopy set up outside the restaurant. One minute wandering through the tent endows me with deep admiration for the local stock's endurance in bone-chilling cold, though the flowing kegs of beer and buckets of fire must help somewhat. Co-owner Allison Bahr is pouring drinks at the crowded bar inside, but I track down her affable Aussie husband of 13 years and new business partner, Rodney, who takes a break from chatting up guests to tell me their story.

Rodney opened a pizza place at age 16 in his small hometown down under, and Allison hails from a family of bar and grille owners. Together they've nurtured a dream to open their own place, as Rodney explains: "Allison and I have a long business background, we just thought that our energy, ambitions and positive effort would be best spent working self employed, rather than for some alternate entity."

The Bahrs began actively looking for a location to make their own two years ago before the recession had begun to really cripple commerce. They couldn't put their dream on hold simply because the larger economic landscape looked dismal, particularly not this summer after they assessed possibilities for the building now called Tippy Canoes, which had been empty for six months after the previous restaurant went out of business--a casualty of mismanagement more than anything else, according to Rodney. "We got what we felt was a great price, followed by great terms with minimal monies down, a building with huge growth potential in a sizeable and reputable town that needed a restaurant, followed by its location on a main highway of 12,000 cars per day and the fact that it was just one hour from the Twin Cities and located next to a hotel. We felt it was finally the right fit to put our blood, sweat and tears into."

The real estate investor who owns the site wanted to fully unload the property, but the current state of commercial credit blocked standard routes to financing the purchase, so the property owner offered to negotiate terms for a land contract. "He said it was a land contract, or nothing," Rodney recalls.

Land contracts are real estate transactions involving seller-based financing. The interest rates and payment schedule can be similar to a conventional loan, but the transaction doesn't require direct involvement of or approval from a financial institution. The seller holds onto the title for the contract's negotiated duration, but the buyer takes possession of the property, keeping to an agreed upon payment schedule until their debt is satisfied and they assume full legal ownership.

Also called a contract for deed or installment sales agreement, land contracts aren't unheard of, though they certainly aren't common practice. Legal requirements vary by state, and many such arrangements are not even officially recorded, which has made it difficult to determine whether or not seller-based financing is happening more frequently these days. Considering the tightening of the credit markets, however, I don't think it illogical to surmise that individuals and small businesses may be pursuing less conventional routes for financing.

Under the terms of their land contract, Rodney and Allison have an 18/18 three-year schedule until a balloon payment would be due to conclude the deal. This means they will again seek commercial financing after 18 months, but if it's unavailable, their arrangement with the seller continues. "My instinct is that things won't have recovered enough in 18 months," Rodney says. If after three years they still can't secure outside financing, they would be at a great disadvantage trying to negotiate terms of an extension with the deed holder. "We're in a hard economy, so we had to take that risk."

The Bahrs would be ecstatic about the way things have gone in the few weeks they've been open for business, if they weren't feeling squeezed by their electricity and gas providers, as Rodney explains: "So a total of $9200 is requested as security [deposits] for the large corporations, what about the little guy trying to aid in reviving the economy, now creating employment for 20+ people, do we get any security for our risk? I understand somewhat this rational, but only if we had already had late payments... Once again corporate America's stronghold will rule superior and will potentially be the demise, of any revitalizing of our economy. They are now also charging late payment fees on the balance of the unpaid security deposit. Must be nice to have the power, literally. So next time their service fails, do I get the right to charge for their shortfalls, loss of business? Dream on Mr. Small Proprietor!"

Despite the serious risks his family faces embarking on small business ownership during an era of economic turmoil, Rodney relishes the challenge and expresses a certain appreciation for the intangible benefits such hard times may effect in his adopted country. "We are all fortunate to live essentially in the Disneyland of the world and no matter how long this recession takes to level out, we have no right to complain about the predicament we are in," he says. "Hopefully we as individuals will get back to enjoying the true basics and essence of life, instead of being part of a rat race to keep up with the Joneses."

On Scams, Mortgage Modification, and the Beauty of Bartering

2009-10-26T20:00:13Z

Since being laid off eight months ago, Deanna Steuernagel and Shawn Burke have become most disillusioned by the frequency with which they've encountered various scams specifically targeting the unemployed. Unscrupulous greed clearly holds no sympathy for the downtrodden. Considering the months of delay tactics Chase Bank has employed on Deanna's loan modification application, forestalling a decision until she completely depleted her savings, it would not surprise her to receive notice that she doesn't qualify for Obama's Hope Now program because this month she finally defaulted on her mortgage.

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Shawn and Deanna met and started dating at Nol-Tec, where she worked at reception and he was a kind of Shawn-of-all-trades, building and installing the conveyance systems Nol-Tec produces, while also occasionally performing functions of an in-house handyman, resident computer expert, and whatever other tasks demanded.

Since being laid off in a 10 percent reduction of staff, the couple has continued working together in a different sense. Together, they've figured out how to get by despite bleak circumstances--applying for unemployment and researching other forms of available assistance, supporting and encouraging each other in their relentless pursuit of new work, warning each other of scams, cultivating a garden, and becoming masters in the art of bartering.

Over warm oatmeal raisin cookies, Shawn expresses some strong feelings about U.S. government actions in recent years, most particularly in bailing out mega-banks whose methods of operation helped spark the economic crisis, while leaving little guys to bail themselves out. The fact that Deanna has lost hope that Obama's Hope Now program will help save her home from foreclosure fits perfectly into Shawn's view that the banking system screws hard-working individuals for the success of rich executives.

Back in May, Deanna completed and submitted the full packet of paperwork Chase requires from customers applying for mortgage modification. The four times she has called Chase to check on its progress, an agent has informed her that the underwriting department has yet to receive her application because the packet lacks one detail or another. In no instance has Chase sent her a notification requesting further documentation.

When Deanna called last week, again a Chase representative informed her they couldn't forward her application to underwriting because it still lacked two apparently critical details they'd failed to notice sooner. First, though a tax preparer had dated her W-2 when he submitted it to the IRS, Chase could not accept the documentation because the date line next to Deanna's own signature remained blank. Second, Chase required she submit a new statement of her 401K balance, since any increase resulting from slow stock market recovery during the nearly six months they've had her application could affect the decision-making process.

Deanna figures Chase has been fishing for grounds to reject her, but knows they won't find it in her 401K. Since submitting her original application to Chase in May, she has had to cash out the greatly diminished 401K so she could keep up with her monthly mortgage payments. Now that little nest egg has been spent: "I don't have my mortgage payment this month. What am I going to do?"

"Every time I call Chase, I get a different story. I told them I didn't have money to make my October mortgage payment. They said not to worry about foreclosure because I'm already in the system. Do I trust that? No," Deanna says.

"That's the way the system works," Shawn adds. "Like insurance claims: they just delay and delay and delay, trying to wear you out so you just give up. The banks are either looking to delay so long for her situation to change so they can reject her, or to wear her out so they can take her house."

On average, Deanna sends out a dozen resumes every day, mostly for secretarial-type employment, though really for anything remotely relevant to her professional experience. Writing this, it just now occurred to me that it's probably best if her hunt for work continues to fail so miserably, since a new job could make her instantly ineligible for mortgage modification, though a new paycheck wouldn't catch her up in time to prevent foreclosure. Hello rock, meet hard place.

Though it's entirely possible the unnecessary hassle results from Chase's bureaucratic ineptitude, I can understand their suspicion that untoward motivation underlies deliberate stalling, particularly given the frequency with which they've stumbled across obvious scams or other questionable activities targeting those hardest hit by the recession.

Any advertisement that mentions "recession-proof opportunity" or "make money from home": "Scam," they tell me, nearly in unison. Those are the obvious ones.

On the more insidious side, Deanna has submitted resumes in response to various job ads on Craigslist, which have resulted in emails telling her she looks very qualified for the available position. As part of the advance screening process, however, the email instructs her to file for a credit report through a service the company recommends, for which they helpfully provide a website link. Deanna has never pursued one of those "opportunities," recognizing they're either scamming her for the fee they charge for a credit report or, worse, attempting to acquire her Social Security number for an even bigger take.

Shawn gets worked up by a list of job websites the local unemployment office gave him. "Not one of those websites was worth a damn," he says. "And these are the services the government was recommending I use to look for a job." Each one would take him through pages of inputting personal information and uploading his resume, only at the end of this laborious process making it clear the "service" requires a fee to post the listing. "You gotta pay to find a job," he says with disgust. "I don't have a job; I can't pay."

"And some of them include a personality test," Deanna adds, explaining how some websites ask a host of questions about interests and pursuits completely unrelated to the job itself. They're essentially marketing surveys used to categorize respondents' personal information.

"And now we're inundated with phone calls," Shawn says. "They have all your information and then they sell your information for money."

"Somebody's making money off us being unemployed. And wasting our time too," Deanna adds. "Under the circumstances, trying to be positive is hard."

The one positive consequence of being persistently broke has been their collective revelation about bartering. For a time this summer, healthier eating habits became an unanticipated benefit of unemployment. The green beans they planted in Shawn's yard grew to almost overwhelming proliferation. With watermelon, squash, and an endless supply of green beans, they traded neighbors for homegrown tomatoes, cucumbers, and corn.

Their foray into a more serious level of bartering came through postings on Craigslist.com. The site recently reported that barter listings on their site have increased by 80 percent over the past year, so Shawn and Deanna represent just two in a much larger recession trend.

In the late summer heat, Shawn and Deanna sweated and strained for days, working to clear underbrush and small trees from a plot of land in Minnetonka. In exchange, the dentist who owns the property performed some much-needed dental work on Shawn, Deanna, and Shawn's eponymous son "Junior." Shawn estimates the dentist's bill would have run in the thousands, since none of them have health insurance at this point. Likewise, it probably would have cost the dentist thousands to hire professionals to clear her land.

"Bartering is the new income," Shawn tells me. "I'm going to do it for the rest of my life." His current bartering appeal seeks a mechanic to fix a faulty sensor on his truck, in exchange for computer work. He takes particular pleasure in the way bartering for goods or services moves a transaction beyond the realm of government taxation. "The more people that barter, the more tax revenue the government loses," Shawn points out. "And Uncle Sam can kiss my ass," he concludes.

On "Shoulding" the Homeless

2009-10-23T17:00:55Z

A piece I recently wrote about a homeless family sparked a flood of angry comments coming to me via multiple routes, which argued what the people "should" have done to prevent their current hardship. Since my natural inclination is to appreciate different perspectives and empathize with individual struggles, I can understand clearly how it provides comfort to pass judgment on the homeless. If you believe there are things someone should have or could have done differently, then that means it could never happen to you.
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That's why in the piece about Wilkins and Emma I compared it to falling off a cliff: "Wealth buys passage on toll roads a safe distance from the edge, but poverty's foot path runs along the craggy and unstable lip of a gaping precipice. Emma and her family hit a few ledges on the way down, blown by winds of misfortune every time they began to regain stable footing."

In the story of any homeless person, maybe one of the underlying causes can be an irresponsible choice, the development of an addiction, the inheritance of mental illness, an accident, an illness, or one of the varied forms of bad luck. But in most cases, the most common contributing factor is simply poverty.

I don't feel the need to address at any serious length some of the judgements about Emma and Wilkins: that they shouldn't have had a child (should she have had an abortion?), that she always should have been working (she was also working as a roofer when they became pregnant, and childcare costs nearly as much as a minimum-wage job would pay), that they shouldn't have driven to Montana (you don't know the family reasons for the trip), that public transportation is always a viable option (it's not), that they should have lived closer to work (not possible when job sites change constantly), that he should have gotten a higher-paying job with better benefits (because they grow on trees?). For some people it seems easier to pass judgment than to feel compassion. I have an appointment later today to interview a newly homeless mother of four in Minneapolis. I only know the barest outline of her story at this point, though no matter what her situation, under the circumstances I expect to hear from people that she shouldn't have had so many children.

I can understand someone concluding that Emma and Wilkins should have had car insurance -- with that, they would readily agree, though that doesn't mean they could have afforded car insurance any more than the small fortune in fines they received as a result of not having it. Emma acknowledged in a statement I quoted that they had made mistakes in their past. As I've heard from so many homeless, once that snowball starts rolling, it's difficult to prevent the boulder it quickly becomes.

The state of Washington should absolutely require drivers to have car insurance, but I don't believe the system of penalties in place for those unable to afford its purchase contribute to the bigger picture of a healthy society. When property taxes are down, is that what we're going to do to fill government coffers?

If someone doesn't have money for car insurance, is it to our benefit to fine them $450? Is it to our benefit to double it to $900 if they can't come up with $450 within 15 days? Is it to our benefit to eventually imprison them for 30 days, at a cost to taxpayers of $65 per day, if their license is suspended, they have to drive to work, and still can't come up with that $900?

This set up reminds me of a comment made by Robert Daneri, whose family of six experienced four months of homelessness until very recently. As Robert puts it: "Policy affecting the homeless is made by the wealthy and implemented by the middle class, but neither understand the life of the poor."

Taxpayers can end up footing a larger bill in order to punish an individual because he/she couldn't afford the fine imposed in the first place. What productive end does that serve? And think of the outward ripple affect of that trend -- those who lose the only minimum wage job they have because they get caught in the loop, those whose families end up homeless as a result. How does that process boost our nation's productivity?

Rather than slamming someone with an unaffordable fine because they can't afford car insurance in the first place, a more practical system could be arranged fairly easily. I wouldn't suggest the government should get into the car insurance business, but what if rather than targeting uninsured drivers as a source of revenue, the fine imposed would be a reasonable monthly payment financing the purchase of that insurance? That $450 could cover a six-month premium under some circumstances, though the government would have to establish arrangements with one of the insurance companies that don't charge higher rates for those living in poorer neighborhoods.

So I ask my readers, do you think something like I've outlined above would be more judicious and of greater overall benefit to the productivity of our nation than a system that leads to what I referred to as a debtor's prison in the story of Wilkins and Emma? If not, please feel free to offer another suggestion for an arrangement that would not punish the poor.

(Photo: Spencer Platt/Getty Images)

"You Have to Go Where the Jobs Are"

2009-10-22T18:15:38Z

Of all the people I've met on this trip, Ben Robertson may have adopted the wisest and consequently most successful approach to finding new employment following a job loss. Unemployed in Colorado after mass layoffs from the natural gas fields, Ben began researching jobless statistics state-by-state. He and his wife Lily had never considered living in North Dakota before, but with an unemployment rate running roughly half the national average, Ben concluded: "You have to go where the jobs are."

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I met Ben in a Wal-Mart parking lot, where I'd slept in the Prius overnight, as I've grown accustomed to doing lately. Hard-pressed for a compelling story of someone adapting to the economic downturn in a state with only 4.3% unemployment, I sat watching license plates for hours, accosting anyone emerging from an out-of state-registered car.

Ben's Colorado plate wasn't the first I saw. I chased down two other cars displaying Michigan tags, whose occupants were reticent to speak on the record because they didn't feel comfortably secure in their brand new North Dakota jobs. By contrast, once I got Ben talking, he didn't stop for quite awhile. Only afterward did he realize he'd said far too much, so I agreed to give him a pseudonym, leave his current employer unnamed, and not repeat a couple of his juicier life details.

For just over $70,000 a year, Ben used to drive a water truck around natural gas fields near Parachute, Colorado. Now based out of Bismarck, North Dakota, he will earn about $40,000 this year for back-breaking and potentially hazardous work spraying herbicide to kill weeds along train tracks around the country. It's a huge reduction in income for a more strenuous and dangerous effort, but Ben is not the type to dwell long on the negative.

"I'm just fortunate to have a position at all when so many don't," he tells me. "I don't feel comfortable doing some of the things we do because there are health hazards with the chemicals, but you gotta do what you gotta do to survive. It's so disheartening to see people living out on the streets, so we can't complain too much."

Ben's biggest worry at the moment concerns the financing of his son's education. Studying to become an X-ray technician, his boy needs help paying for the third year of college. Ben and Lily had to tell him last week they couldn't co-sign for a student loan. Unfortunately, the Robertsons have some debt marring their credit.

In a typical hard luck turn I've heard far too often recently, the Robertsons could not afford COBRA insurance rates on the income of an unemployment check. I don't understand how it is that major injuries always seem to wait for the health insurance to expire. Whatever malevolent pixies orchestrate these accidents pulled Lily's feet out from under her in the shower. The force of her head hitting the toilet made it explode. The toilet, not her head--very fortunately.

One ride in an expensive taxi with blaring sirens and pulsing lights--followed by a comprehensive noggin examination--added up to a credit report demerit worth $4,000. Even now, Lily's prescription medications cost $700 out of pocket every month, though Ben thinks the health benefits of his new job are about to kick in and relieve that load slightly.

From the time Ben started his new job in March until just a few weeks ago, he and Lily traveled all over the Midwest, living out of motels near anywhere weeds had the nerve to infringe on the exclusive domain of trains. Now the couple has settled into their new North Dakota apartment for the down months when winter spreads nature's own frosty herbicide.

In a few weeks, Lily will start a full-time position manning phones in a customer service call center. Ben squeezes forty working hours into four days, maintaining trucks and equipment at his employer's base of operations. Since the easier work earns less pay than the high season, he was considering Wal-Mart's big black and neon-colored sign advertising help wanted with late night re-stock.

It's not clear how much sleep time a second job would allow, but when I inquire about that he says again: "You gotta do what you gotta do," only this time concluding with "for your kids."

His daughter is a teacher in Florida, just finishing up her Master's in mathematics. His son is halfway to becoming an X-ray technician. Both have chosen career paths Ben feels will guarantee job security and financial stability, and he evinces pride at their accomplishments. If he and Lily can just earn a little more money to help secure a clear trailhead for their son's path, then they can finally relax. "No matter how hard it is, I figure if we can do right by our kids, then we've done right. Period."

Residents Quietly Rejoice Local Foreclosure

2009-10-20T18:20:00Z

Tracts of pale amber grass run like jagged scars down the mountainside, cutting through spruce and fir forests that otherwise paint the landscape southwest of Lolo, Montana a deep shade of evergreen. Two weeks ago, creditors filed foreclosure papers against the project once touted to become the nation's largest ski resort. Though disinclined to take pleasure in a local family's misfortune, many residents of Lolo are quietly rejoicing at the failure of the Bitterroot Resort.

]]> The Missoulian when he first revealed his development plans in 2003: "It's not easy to think about this place as anything but a working ranch. There are a lot of Maclays whose blood, sweat and tears went into this soil. And that's not a small thing."

Through successive generations, the original Maclay domain has been divided and sub-divided, with portions occasionally sold off. If the foreclosure filing against Bitterroot Resort proceeds to its likely end, Tom Maclay's 3,000 acres will be taken over by Metropolitan Life Insurance Co. Asset Holdings LLC to satisfy a festering $19 million debt.

"Nope. I don't feel sorry for him one bit," one longtime resident says when I approach him in the parking lot of a local deli. "We didn't want it and he didn't give a damn. This isn't the perspective of poor folk resenting the wealthy local landowner. It's practicality. We didn't want the traffic, higher property taxes, expensive housing, and all the rich la-di-da yuppies that would have come with it. God bless this recession if it puts an end to that nightmare."

Most Lolo residents I speak to do not hesitate to offer their personal opinion, often a reiteration of the above, though most decline to give their name. It's just not polite to be bad mouthing a local family or rejoicing in their sudden hardship. Unless you can do it anonymously.

Pam Lunceford has no such compunction, even spelling out her name to make sure I get it just right. She doesn't mind if Tom Maclay knows exactly how she feels about him. "That man should be in jail," she says matter-of-factly. "He cut down my trees. He cut down our trees. Trees that belonged to all Americans."

Pam doesn't refer to trees on Maclay's own property, but to those of the Lolo and Bitterroot National Forests. The ski runs he carved out of the thickly forested slopes on his own land are an eyesore, but Pam can't comprehend why Maclay wasn't charged with a federal offense for cutting down trees along an access road he expanded without permission from the US Forest Service. Maclay needed a wider passage to transport construction and snow-blowing equipment, for which he felled an estimated 400 trees on federal land, including a number of rare species of larch. The Forest Service filed civil suit over the action in 2006, which Maclay settled with a payment of $20,000.

Organized resistance to the Bitterroot Resort has been most vehement toward Maclay's intention to use thousands of acres of federally-owned wilderness adjacent to his own property as part of the overall development plan.

The original iteration requested the US Forest Service issue a special-use permit for Bitterroot Resort to develop more than 11,000 acres of federal property for cross-country and Nordic skiing, mountain biking trails and snow touring. After multiple rejections and revised applications, Maclay was finally awarded preliminary approval in December 2008 for the use of 3,000 acres.

That stage of approval represented only a partial green light. To further advance his pursuit of a special-use permit, Maclay next needed to submit a thorough financial statement to the Forest Service, which would have laid bare his accounting at a time when the credit markets were constricting worldwide. Lolo residents noticed a lull in activity emanating from the Bitterroot Resort this past year, and the foreclosure filings earlier this month seemed to have sparked a ripple of relief, though little surprise.

Of the more than dozen residents I speak to in the small town, I do manage to find one disappointed in the latest development. The aged gentleman wearing an odd dome-shaped cap and walking with a cane declines to give his name, though directs his harsh comments toward those opposed to the resort, rather than the man pushing its development.

"This is a liberal area," he says gruffly. "And they are somehow idiotically opposed to any kind of economic development." The man estimates the breakdown of community sentiment on the project to be roughly 50-50, though everyone else I encounter in Lolo suggests it's closer to 80-20 opposed.

"That was [name redacted]," Pam tells me a few minutes later. "He owns half this town so of course he wants the resort. That'd make him a lot of money."

A few people I meet in Lolo express a desire for economic development, though they categorically reject any notion that transforming the small town into a vacation destination would provide the answer. As Loloan Richard Parks explains: "The resort would mostly create low-wage jobs, but would also increase the cost of living and property taxes for everyone living here." He figures college students would probably make the 20-minute commute from Missoula to work at the resort and service-related businesses, while longtime residents would have to move because they couldn't afford to live there anymore.

Tom Maclay only has a few more days to respond to the foreclosure notice before a judge in Missoula District Court decides the next step for Bitterroot Resort. No one answered the resort's listed phone number or returned multiple messages. Either Maclay and his associates have withdrawn in grief or are frantically negotiating terms of a bailout with new financiers.

Around Lolo, most of the locals I meet assume--and, yes, cautiously hope--the next announcement will conclusively herald the demise of Bitterroot Resort. Even so, many say the community will long carry scars from Tom Maclay's folly of ambition. "Just look at that," one says, pointing to the forested mountainside riven by abandoned ski slopes. "The damage is already done."

Happy Ending for Homeless Family of Six

2009-10-19T17:15:26Z

"Home," Crystal says, drawing one hand to her chest as the other catches a welling tear before it spills down her face. "Just speaking that word now is enough to make my heart flutter." After four months sleeping on fold-out cots and air mattresses at a succession of different churches, Crystal, husband Robert, and four children--aged four through thirteen--have finally found their way "home." Of course this story holds elements of heartbreak, exploitation, and outrage, though their own indelible recession memories will more likely recall fires of adversity forging familial bonds as strong as steel, and the boundless endurance and faith these times compelled them to discover within themselves.

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Robert is an independent software programmer and full-time dad, who was working to launch his own small business when he wasn't caring for their six children (four from Crystal's first marriage). For the past year-and-a-half he has been developing Dungeons and Dragons character management software, often doing his programming work between midnight and 4 am, the only quiet hours available in a full house of children. He and his two business partners tried to secure a loan for HeroForge Software LLC just as the national credit crunch dried up potential sources for financing, which means Robert will not earn income from his efforts until the product begins to sell.

In Reno, Crystal used to work for the type of business one might assume would flourish during an economic downturn: a "title loan company," in the formal nomenclature. "You'd really call them loan sharks," Crystal clarifies, explaining her employer would charge between 9.9% and 31% interest per day for short-term loans. Though not the most ennobling employment, it paid the rent on their 2000-square foot house and financed a comfortable standard of living.

In late 2007, as foreclosure signs began sprouting through Reno neighborhoods, the Nevada legislature passed measures to reign in predatory lending, particularly that of payday loan sharks like the one who employed Crystal. With his business practices constrained by the new law, he adapted to the reduced margins of profitability by laying off all his employees in June 2008.

For two months Crystal hunted for any kind of job, competing with increasing numbers of newly unemployed Reno residents scrambling to secure even the most menial paid work. Unable to pay their bills, a repo man eventually came for the family car.

Out of desperation, Crystal accepted a job working the nightshift, alone, at a Chevron station just off the interstate. Though she never had to face a demand for money with a gun in her face, the nightly news seemed to report an increasing frequency of armed robberies. "It was scary," she recalls. The time had come to leave Reno.

Robert's mother lives in Post Falls, Idaho, a small town about 20 miles east of Spokane, Washington. She loves time with her grandbabies, and her help with childcare would free up both Robert and Crystal to work until they recovered from an increasingly precarious financial situation.

A little online research turned up a help wanted ad for satellite installation, which both Robert and Crystal had experience doing. As an added incentive, the company offered use of a work truck for all employees, which would solve their transportation problems.

After reviewing resumes and interviewing them over the phone, the boss told them he'd have jobs waiting for them when they arrived in Idaho. "It took us three days to decide, execute the decision, pack, and drive to Idaho," Crystal recounts. Only one thing made the sudden move a painful decision--two of Crystal's children decided to stay behind in Reno with her ex-husband.

The Daneris arrived in Post Falls late one October night after a thirteen hour drive from Reno. "We're coming from a cement city in the middle of the desert. The kids woke up the first morning, looked out the windows and said: 'What's that on the mountains?," Crystal says. "They'd never seen mountains with trees before," Robert adds, laughing.

The first couple of days felt idyllic, until they went to claim their new jobs and were informed they'd have to provide their own truck since all the company vehicles were already in use. But they didn't even own a car, they explained, or money to finance the purchase of one. The response that garnered was along the lines of: "That's too bad. Come back when you do."

The few weeks they expected to crowd into Robert's mother's house stretched into months. In January, Crystal finally landed a job managing the Post Falls Jungle Pizza--a jungle-themed Chuck E Cheese-style joint.

One month later, their slow financial recovery hit a setback when 13-year-old Dakota suffered a heart attack during a strenuous workout at school. A heart murmur led to congenitive heart failure after a school coach challenged Dakota to push himself beyond his limits of exhaustion.

Aside from some lingering lethargy, Dakota recovered fairly well, and the family's finances had stabilized enough to start looking for their own housing. In fortunate happenstance, they learned a neighbor planned to move out of her rental house. The house's owner, Jaquie Sentio, came down from Montana to meet them, and they signed a lease to move in at the end of March. The $900 rent was above market rates for the area, but Jaquie said there'd be no negotiation on price because that's what she needed to make her mortgage.

The Daneris loved living in their new house for three whole days, until Jaquie served them with their first eviction notice, stating they had three days to move out. Though she had agreed via email that they could paid their rent every two weeks, rather than once a month, that arrangement technically put them in violation of the terms of their lease, which Jaquie decided gave her grounds for eviction.

The first notice wasn't official--just something Jaquie had made up on her computer--so the Daneris told her to pursue the eviction legally if she really wanted to try and oust them. A few days later, the police served a real eviction notice stipulating they had three days to either pay $900 or move out. It didn't seem to matter that they had already paid a half month's rent.

With no options but to pay the amount dictated by the eviction notice, they gave the landlord two checks for $450 each. Due to a bank error, one check bounced. Jaquie pretended to be understanding, telling them not to worry, the bank would fix the problem, which it did just after the first of the month.

The Daneris paid another $900 on May 1 to cover the full month's rent. They thought everything had been resolved, until May 7 when police arrived with a new eviction notice. At a May 10 hearing, the presiding judge ruled inadmissible any payments registered in May. The judge said it didn't matter they had emails proving Jaquie agreed to accept their rent in two payments, since that arrangement still violated terms of their lease. It didn't matter that they'd paid an additional $900 for April after the initial $450, since those were the terms of their first eviction notice. It didn't matter that the bank had corrected its error on the bounced check, since the fix came after May 1 and was, therefore, inadmissible. It didn't matter that they had just paid $900 rent for the month of May--the judge ruled they had 48 hours to vacate the premises.

On May 12, Crystal and Robert watched from his mother's porch as the town marshal arrived for a walk through to verify nothing had been damaged. As he drove away, Jaquie made a call on her cell phone. Within a minute, a U-Haul truck pulled up to the house. Word around the neighborhood is that the new tenants paid two months upfront, at a rate of $1200 a month, which saved Jaquie from defaulting on her mortgage. And, no, Jaquie did not refund the Daneris any money from their May rent. "We literally gave her every dollar we had," Crystal says.

To further complicate matters, when Robert's mother called her own landlord to confirm it would be okay if they stayed with her awhile longer, he responded that her lease stipulated the house was a single-family dwelling, not a single-extended-family dwelling.

So Crystal started calling emergency shelters and social service organizations. St. Vincent Depaul had space available, but they said the family would have to split up, with Robert taking the two older male children in the men's shelter and Crystal staying in the women's shelter with her daughter and youngest son. "With that, I lost it on the phone," Crystal remembers.

"It's very important for us to all stay together," Robert adds. "My promise to my family was not to allow us to be separated."

"There's one place in all of northern Idaho that has shelter for families, and that is Family Promise. They're truly a godsend," Crystal says. On the day of their eviction, the Family Promise van arrived to pick them up at Robert's mother's house. Crystal, Robert, Dakota (13), Marisa (11), Seth (6), and little Mason (3) each had one duffel bag and their own pillow.

Family Promise affiliates across the country organize coalitions of local churches to provide shelter for homeless families. Each church hosts the program for one week, so the families move on a weekly basis. The churches provide dinner, breakfast, and a safe place to sleep, though the families have to leave the premises during the day.

Family Promise in Post Falls can accept up to 15 people at a time, which usually means they'll have two or three families living together. "It's very much community living. You are not alone ever," Robert says. "It's best when you can form a bond with other families, working together to benefit each other." Some of the families in the program kept to themselves, but the Daneris did make some friendships that will long endure.

Robert and Crystal have endless praise for the Family Promise program and those who run it, though their experience with the host churches was not always entirely positive. "We met a lot of people with great intentions, but not a lot with great hearts," Crystal explains.

"You just lost everything you owned, and then you're under the microscope of all these different congregations," Robert adds.

Crystal continues, "When they're slopping the food on your plate, you can envision them holding a dinner party the next night, telling all their friends about how worthy they are for helping a homeless family. The number one question we got was: 'Do you have Jesus Christ in your life?'"

For months Robert wore long sleeves to cover the tattoos running up both arms, fearing the critical eye of their hosts. "I don't want to be judged by my appearance, I want to be judged by my merit. I'm a human being; I will not tolerate being looked down on."

Whenever they noticed condescending judgment from one of their hosts, rather than becoming angry and defensive, they would calmly discuss with the person how they arrived at their pre-conceived notions about the homeless. In most cases, the conversation would spark a revelation, and the Daneris would be given respect, rather than derision, from the individual.

One person they never had to convince of their self-worth was Pastor Sante of the 7th Day Adventists in Post Falls. "The first thing he said to us was how impressed he was with us getting up early to cook for our kids on a Saturday morning," Robert recalls.

Pastor Sante constantly expressed admiration for their self-discipline under such difficult circumstances, particularly how they maintained order with their children. Sante's encouragement gave them strength to persevere, particularly when the pastor would tell them how much they inspired him. "We believe in God, but don't ascribe to organized religion," Robert explains. "But Pastor Sante is our personal spiritual guide now."

"Pastor Sante is a direct conduit to God," Crystal adds for emphasis.

Even more than spiritual help, Pastor Sante gave them practical assistance, helping arrange financing for a used car, which he even secured with his own promissory note.

The Daneris wish they could personally thank the four donors who paid for the security deposit on their new apartment, but Family Promise has respected the benefactors' request for anonymity. The Department of Health and Welfare contributed enough for one month's rent, and the Northern Idaho Workforce Training Center, where Crystal just began a 6-week CNA training program, kicked in enough to give them a second month of security.

That's more assistance than most homeless families could hope for, but Robert theorizes they've been treated generously because they developed a reputation for never seeking any aid they didn't actually need. "We were never looking for handouts, only a hand up. If we were told to go file for some assistance program we didn't actually need, we would refuse. I'm not going to claim resources for myself when that could take away from someone who needs it. When we were given clothes for the kids, we actually gave back more than we received because we had so much they'd grown out of."

Since her certification program to become a nurse's aide began on October 2, Crystal has been attending school four nights a week, while still putting in 35-40 hours at Jungle Pizza. She worries that Jungle Pizza may become another victim of the recession, though her concern is more for the beloved owner than her own job. She already has a couple of employment opportunities to seize when she finishes her CNA program in mid-November. In the Spring, she will continue to advance her nursing education, and should become an RN within a couple of years.

Crystal had never considered nursing as a career before, "but coming from this point where we needed such compassion, I felt like I wanted to provide compassion for the general public." Also, she continues, nursing will provide job stability for life. "It has the biggest job demand in northern Idaho," Robert adds.

Robert's software company is opening a new chapter that will hopefully lead to even greater financial security for the family. HeroForge finally completed the development and beta-testing phases of his Dungeons and Dragons character management software, making trial versions available for download last week. More than five hundred copies have been downloaded so far.

On any given day, roughly 3 million Americans play D&D online. Worldwide, D&D gamers number 300 million. Even a small fraction of that target audience could make up for his two years of full-time unpaid work.

Despite everything they've been going through, Crystal and Robert evince pride the kids are doing so well in school. When Dakota, Marisa and Seth arrive home in a jumble of backpacks and excitement, each one has good news to share--a perfect score on a spelling test, a student of the week award. Seth is most excited to tell me about an imminent biological achievement--he is about to turn seven. The stack of invitations sitting on the kitchen table foretell a memorable celebration, with cards already labeled for every kid in his class, plus a few friends he made in the Family Promise program.

The children adapted well to their constantly uncertain circumstances, though Crystal and Robert have noticed some residual effects of the journey through homelessness. Little Mason, who's not quite four yet, doesn't seem to understand the concept of this new place called home they've been living in for nearly two weeks. After four months of rotating to a different church every week, Mason keeps asking when they're moving. "Sometimes if we're driving past a church he recognizes, he'll ask: 'We go dat church tonight?,' or point and say, 'My room dere.'"

As for the older children, "When we first moved into the apartment," Crystal says, "it was like the kids had forgotten how to play."

"In Family Promise, the rules are that a child can never be left unattended. So, except during school hours, they'd been literally at our side for almost four months," Robert adds.

"The first time we told them to go out and play," Crystal continues. "It was like they didn't know what to do. It took them twenty minutes just to make their way down the stairs. I am not kidding you." While I'm there, however, Seth can't stop yelling about how he wants to jump off the (second story) balcony again.

Crystal's two children who chose to stay in Reno have been begging to move to Idaho since hearing about the green trees, rivers, lakes, fishing, swimming, and enough outdoor adventure to charge their young imaginations. "It just breaks my heart I haven't seen them in a year," she says. Now that their situation is beginning to stabilize, Crystal hopes to arrange for their northward move soon.

So that's the happy ending to the Daneri's story. I've done my part to relate their struggles and triumphs as accurately as the English language would allow, but there remain things to be said before drawing this piece to a close.

Crystal and Robert had much they wanted to express, in hopes their knowledge and experience can help inform the American public about the reality of homelessness, most particularly during this recession. So from this point forward, I surrender fully to their voices.

Crystal: "People who haven't really been affected by the recession don't really understand the lives of those who have been. In homelessness, everything--from the minute you wake up in the morning until the minute you go to sleep at night--is a bridge to cross. Everything is a battle.

"And you're so low. Self-esteem is non-existent. You look at your children and get so depressed they're in this situation with you.

"One thing I hope Americans can learn through this recession is an understanding of what homelessness really is. Do you picture the guy on the corner begging for money, who will probably go spend it on alcohol? Or do you picture your next door neighbor? Because these days, it's your neighbor, your friends, your family, the people in your community."

Robert: "My very first thought [when we became homeless] was how we would be looked at as a family in this situation. Now we've gone from the deepest darkest dumps you could be in to regaining faith in ourselves. It comes down to you having to fight to get yourself out of that place."

Crystal: "And it's a hard, hard, hard place to come back from. And exhausting."

Robert: "All the odds are against you, but it can be done. Just never give up. Never give up."

Crystal: "We've been able to re-build our lives from the ground up. I've never felt more at home than I do right now. We're cramped, crowded, living on top of each other, but we're so happy.

"And we're actually glad the kids have had this experience. It used to all be about the Playstation 3, or the TV, cable, stereos. It was gimme, gimme, gimme, gimme. Well, gimme done died. We always taught that the material things aren't important, but now they've actually learned through experience. They've learned not to take anything for granted. As they get older, this is a lesson they will take with them."

Robert: "It's about faith and family, not material goods. As long as I have my family, I'll have everything I need in life.

"Americans need to be educated on the true bottom line of homelessness. Not every homeless person does drugs. Not every one is an alcoholic, or crazy, or homeless by choice. Your children are going to school with homeless children and you don't even know it.

"Policy affecting the homeless is made by the wealthy and implemented by the middle class, but neither understand the life of the poor."

When Losing a Job Means Losing an Identity

2009-10-14T17:35:06Z

"I've always had an affection for divey little bars," Mike Lewis tells me. The first time he entered the Streamline Tavern, he came as a reporter on assignment for the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, writing a series called "Diving Lessons" about the characters who congregate in such places. Now he has become the starring character of the Streamline, having invested his P-I severance pay into buying part ownership of the classic Queene Anne's Hill establishment.

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In February, Denver's Rocky Mountain News halted operations entirely. A couple weeks later, the Seattle Post-Intelligencer announced it would cease to exist in newsprint form. While retaining a skeleton crew to generate online content for SeattlePI.com, 160 reporters, editors, designers, critics, and columnists lost their jobs.

Pundits have thoroughly dissected the slow downfall of print media, typically citing the availability of free newspapers on the Internet as sparking the bleed of subscription rolls, thus creating an increasing margin of unprofitable. More bitter media watchers blame blogs and online news aggregators for parasitically sucking content (and readers) away from the original creators.

Longtime Seattle P-I book critic, John Marshall, believes the most critical loss of revenue can be pinpointed with greater precision: "Craigslist is what killed the old media. That was the cash cow that drove old media, and now that cow is dead."

When I meet up with him for a wander through the University Farmer's Market, he admits solitude is the hardest thing about being unemployed. "There are some days when they only person I talk to is a barista at the coffee shop." He misses the camaraderie of the news room, and that sense of collective effort and accomplishment when a good issue closed.

These days John usually has to work alone, writing the occasional freelance piece for The Daily Beast or IndieReader.com. He also just began teaching a memoir-writing class at the Richard Hugo House, a literary community center. Marshall received a fairly sizeable severance package for the 26 years he invested in the P-I, and admits he won't start seriously worrying about his employment status until after the first of the year.

Only about a dozen of his former colleagues have secured full-time jobs since the March layoffs, so it doesn't seem like there are many opportunities available for people of his background and interests. Most are cobbling together a journalism-related career with two or three small jobs, he says, typically freelance writing, editing, or teaching.

At weekly coffee gatherings of former P-Iers, "People hardly even talk about trying to find jobs anymore," John says. "There's a tremendous amount of hopelessness and despair among those who thought they knew what they'd be doing for the rest of their lives. They wanted to go into journalism to make the world a better place, then you realize the world doesn't care."

Claudia Rowe, formerly the P-I's social issues reporter for six years, holds tight to the belief that her efforts can improve the world, and has the distinction of leaving journalism to discover a new way to satisfy that ambition.

"I am sort of stunned," Claudia admits. "I never could have envisioned leaving journalism. I had never done anything else. My identity is totally tied up in journalism. I was quite distraught through the summer, thinking 'How am I going to recreate my career.'"

Rather than recreating her journalism career, Claudia became a public information officer for the Marguerite Casey Foundation, an organization that supports grassroots and community efforts to empower the working poor. Now in her second week as an ex-hack turned flack, Claudia finds her new job "surprisingly gratifying and interesting."

"I've found out that the very things I'd been trying to do for 20 years, while very gratifying, I was less and less able to shine a light on social issues. This foundation provides another route to the same end."

With her new career, Claudia will be the primary breadwinner in her household for the moment. When P-I imploded--just a week before she gave birth, it should be noted--her husband, Dan Kearney, also lost his copyediting job.

In a sense, the layoff process introduced Dan to a new career path he might not have otherwise considered. As a member of the union team negotiating terms for severance packages, he was exposed to principles of contract law. Dan has now returned to school with a plan to become a lawyer, likely specializing in labor law.

Though Mike Lewis bought part ownership in the Streamline Tavern, he has no intention of leaving journalism. "This is just a holding pattern," he explains on a busy night at the Streamline. "I took my severance and turned it into a full-time minimum wage job."

His girlfriend and business partner, Mary, tends the bar while Mike and I chat over beers. A mix of old-time regulars and young hipsters crowd the room, dimly lit by neon beer signs. Mike jokes about their classic dive bar decor, pointing out the tapestry of dogs playing poker. Hanging nearby, illuminated in a pool of red light from a Budweiser-labeled neon guitar, I can see a framed advertisement from Mike's P-I days. "Seattle's Storyteller" it reads, next to a grinning picture of Mike.

After writing the "Diving Lessons" profile of the Streamline five years ago, the owner offered him a one-night-a-week shift working behind the bar. Mike didn't expect to tend bar for long, but the job was easy and fun, time passed quickly, and he eventually became a part of that character-rich tableau of the Streamline extended family.

A few months ago, when he learned the black cloud of foreclosure loomed over the Streamline, Mike decided he couldn't let some outside investor acquire the place and transform it into a trendy bar more in keeping with the rapidly gentrifying neighborhood.

To make the bargain-basement selling price, Mike recruited Mary, a longtime bartender at Seattle's famed Blue Moon Tavern, and two other partners with experience owning and/or running their own establishments. They just finalized the deal in August, but everything seems to be going well so far--aside from the plumbing. Fortunately, Mike has a plumber happy to work for beer.

Mike has been putting 50 to 60 hours a week into the Streamline, but plans to cut back once they get the place running smoothly and profitably. At this point, "I'm not sleeping much," he admits.

In addition to his work at the bar, three days a week he teaches a class on formal writing for ESL students at Seattle University. And to keep his anchor in the journalism world, Mike writes freelance when he can, and spends two days a week interning at NPR-affiliate KPLU. He accepted the unpaid position as a way to develop skills required in radio, particularly use of recording and editing equipment. Now that he has acquired a proficiency in radio journalism, he is working on a freelance arrangement so he can get paid for his efforts. Like many laid off reporters, Mike has trouble entertaining the idea of a life without journalism.

"I liked being a print reporter. It's what I always aspired to do. For me, working in media is almost an identity thing as much as an income thing. The day they announced the end of P-I, it was almost like losing a spouse."

After we finish our beers and I snap a few pictures, Mike walks me outside to point out the famed "It's in the P-I" sign. The overnight beacon of light from a 30-foot blue globe on top of the paper's headquarters has been an iconic symbol of the city for more than 50 years. I'd witnessed its blazing neon glory earlier in the evening, but when Mike gets to the vantage point, he looks puzzled. Someone had turned out the lights.

Mike shrugs, "I guess they're cutting back on the electric bill."

Milking the Poor: One Family's Fall Into Homelessness

2009-10-12T17:50:05Z

The descent into homelessness can be equated to falling off a cliff. Wealth buys passage on toll roads a safe distance from the edge, but poverty's foot path runs along the craggy and unstable lip of a gaping precipice. Emma and her family hit a few ledges on the way down, blown by winds of misfortune every time they began to regain stable footing. As Emma describes their story: "It's too much bad luck for anyone to believe."
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"If you don't have money for insurance, and you get pulled over, then you'll never have money again," Emma explains, summarizing the painful lesson realized through her entanglement with Washington law. "Fines rack up every time they make a judgment against you. If you don't respond, if you don't get the notice, then it goes to collections, additional penalties are levied. It just gets worse and worse. And that's how our hole got deeper and deeper."

If Emma had to pinpoint the moment their life began to lose footing on solid ground, it would go back to the ticket she received for driving without insurance in February 2008--the fourth month of her pregnancy with daughter Elizabeth.

Wilkins's license had been previously suspended after he couldn't afford to pay a ticketed fine issued for driving without insurance, so Emma was behind the wheel of his car when they were pulled over on their return from visiting family in Montana. The cop issued Emma her own $550 ticket for driving without insurance.

The couple arrived home in Seattle to learn two housemates had abruptly moved out, leaving them $1000 short on rent. "You have 15 days to respond to a ticket, and I got wrapped up in trying to save the house," Emma explains. "I don't know why I bothered. We lost the house anyway. And basically my life has been downhill ever since." After a new housemate's rent check bounced, the landlord filed papers for their eviction.

The couple had begun the process of moving belongings to an apartment when Emma, by then seven months pregnant, realized she hadn't felt any movement in her womb for two days. Diagnosed with intense preeclampsia, likely caused by stress, Emma was admitted to the hospital for an emergency C-section. While in the recovery room with Wilkins at her side, the landlord emptied their house, piling their possessions out on the sidewalk for anyone to claim.

Emma doesn't care about the furniture, but still laments losing her cherished collection of books. Compared to the terrifying medical crisis that could have killed their baby, however, fallout from the eviction felt like a minor blip. The couple had no idea their streak of misfortune had just begun.

The hospital discharged Emma after one week, but baby Elizabeth had to be kept isolated in a preemie incubator. En route to a friend's house on the day of her release, Emma was surprised to see flashing lights in the rearview mirror. She had been obeying all traffic laws, but the cop had apparently run the license plate. That's when Wilkins learned a ticket for driving with a suspended license had been converted to a criminal warrant. It didn't matter that he wasn't driving on that occasion--the police took him into custody and impounded his car, leaving Emma stranded in an unfamiliar area, phoning friends for a ride.

Though Emma had cash in hand, the impound lot refused to release the car because it was registered in Wilkins's name. By the time he got out of jail a week later, $50 daily storage fees had added $350 to the original $250 impound charge. Their 1990 Mercedes 300 was worth a few thousand, but they had to abandon it for lack of $600 to pay its ransom.

After that burst of trouble, life seemed to stabilize over the summer. Wilkins, a union roofer by trade, had a big job working on the Bravern Building. Putting in ten to twelve hours a day, seven days a week generated enough income to resolve past due fines, buy a used car, and even insure it with the bare minimum required by law. Then over winter, recession woes halted new construction, effectively crippling the family's livelihood.

Seattle's rainy winter months always require a break from roofing, but things typically ramp back up in the early Spring. This year was different. "When work didn't happen and didn't happen and didn't happen, we got scared," Emma recalls. Wilkins was finally called back to work in May, just as they reached into the last of their savings.

A few weeks passed worry-free before tragedy launched a new phase of hardship. One Saturday afternoon, Wilkins was installing a window for a friend in Section 8 housing when he slipped, his arm crashing through the glass. The accident severed an artery, his ulnar nerve, and two tendons. Four hours of surgery reconnected it all, though he may never regain full use of his arm.

To compound the depth of this misfortune, Wilkins's injury occurred just three weeks after he had returned to work. Since it takes thirty days of employment to resume benefits, he had no health insurance. After the state picked up a portion of the medical bills, Emma estimates about $12,000 in debt remains.

Whether $12,000 or $120,000, the prospect of such debt held little meaning because they didn't even have enough money for rent. Wilkins couldn't tie his own shoes without help, but he could keep an eye on one-year-old Elizabeth. "I hit the pavement immediately," Emma says.

She had worked in social services outreach for six years until funding cuts ended her program in late 2007. Even though that comprised the bulk of her professional experience, Emma created six different resumes, each fine-tuned for various fields. "There are so many people unemployed in Seattle, you probably need a resume just to pull coffee. I was so despondent for awhile because I was even getting turned down for waitressing jobs."

The landlord wouldn't wait for Emma to find a new stream of income and evicted the family in June. Their last bit of money secured two weeks at a filthy motel in Aurora, an area notorious for pervasive crime, drugs, and prostitution. In better days Emma had worked as a volunteer distributing condoms, toiletries, and informational brochures to hookers and homeless populating the strip, never imagining she would one day end up living among them. "I felt utterly defeated," she recalls.

Faced with a frighteningly imminent prospect of living in the car with their daughter, Emma refused to surrender herself to defeat. Online research and many phonecalls secured assistance from a local non-profit, Solid Ground, which currently provides shelter for the family in one of its transitional housing units. It's not a luxurious apartment, but it's clean, safe, and for the moment, it's home.

In September, Emma finally landed a job--amazingly in her chosen field of social services. It didn't even matter the organization only had a temporary spot available. Maybe this marked the beginning of a change in fortune. Maybe they could finally get their life back, she thought.

Her first check amounted to one day's work, since she started just before the pay cycle closed. Devastating hardship had dominated for so long, Emma decided it would be nice to go out for a celebratory dinner. They never made it to the restaurant.

The cop who pulled them over informed a surprised Emma that she was driving on a suspended license, apparently as a result of that unpaid ticket from February 2008. Back when they were facing their first eviction, she'd gotten an overdue notice informing her that additional penalties had increased the already unaffordable fine to $900, but she never received word the state had actually suspended her license. Doing his job, the cop issued her a new $250 ticket.

But the police had worse news for Wilkins: they had a warrant for his arrest. Though he had paid his past fines for lacking insurance and the subsequent suspended license, one ticket from Snohomish County remained partially unresolved. Wilkins had failed to perform community service required to fulfill his debt to society, and society was not pleased.

Wilkins had appealed his community service schedule because it came during the period when he was working long hours seven days a week. After receiving no response, he quickly forgot about the seemingly insignificant requirement. Judge Stephen Moore reminded Wilkins of his failed duties before sentencing him to thirty days in jail as punishment.

"We know we've made mistakes in our past but we've been trying to do everything right for so long. I don't know--if we'd saved more money, had a better buffer, I don't know if it could have helped," Emma says.

With her husband in jail, Emma had to request a few days off just one week after starting her new job. "I was walking around in the pouring rain crying for two days, carrying the baby in a snuggy, looking for childcare," she says. She learned that it would cost her about $1200, half her monthly salary, to secure care for Elizabeth. "The Department of Social Health Services said I made too much money to get assistance. If I'd been fresh out of prison, or just off drugs, or making $1 less an hour they said they could help."

Emma finally worked out a more affordable arrangement with a childcare provider who watches a friend's baby, but she remains concerned about Elizabeth. "She's been a different baby since he got taken away. She saw me breaking down and reaching for him." At only sixteen months, Elizabeth is too young to understand why 'Da Da' is gone, but just old enough to feel the loss of his constant presence.

"The prison system is run for profit. Isn't that scary? Is that in the public interest? It's costing taxpayers money to incarcerate Ken, and for what societal benefit?," Emma asks. "I've never understood the concept of milking the poor to generate revenue."

Since she learned her license had been suspended, Emma has been taking the bus to and from her new job--a trip that takes an hour and forty five minutes. Her work requirements include driving, so her first full paycheck will be used to get her license back. She hasn't done the math, so we add everything up: $900 for the no insurance ticket, $250 for the suspended license, $75 for the license reinstatement fee, $25 for the new license. That makes for a total of $1250, which is $50 more than she will receive for two weeks work. "I hope they have a payment plan," Emma says quietly.

"The situation doesn't just make things tighter moneywise," she adds. "It also affects your psyche. It's like I'm being two different people." Emma's employer has been patiently understanding about the complications caused by the sudden revelation of her suspended license. No one in her office, however, knows that she is technically homeless, which is why I have used a pseudonym and masked other identifiable biographical details. Ironically, her office occasionally refers clients to Solid Ground, the non-profit providing Emma housing. "I don't want my office to start thinking of me as a potential client," Emma explains. "I don't want to seem like a liability."

During working hours, Emma projects a strong outward image, masking the inner turmoil she feels, rarely speaking of her personal life. But while telling me the whole story, she can't hide the pain. Her eyes well with tears and her voices trembles repeatedly as she recounts the devolution of her once-stable life.

For the past year-and-a-half, the fates have seemingly showered Wilkins and Emma with an increasing level of hardship every single time they feel on the verge of recovering from the previous episode. Despite the fear, sadness, and anxiety that holds her teetering on the edge of emotional breakdown, Emma has no doubt they will recover and become stronger and wiser from the experience. "I love my family and I know that despite all these snags in the system we'll come out on top because everything we do is for our daughter. She'll keep us going. For her, we'll keep fighting."

NOTE: At Emma's request, I have used pseudonyms above and did not identify her employer. If you feel moved to help people facing similar hardship, send donations to Solid Ground.

Death of Pericles: Recession Roadtrip Snagged by Four-Car Pileup

2009-10-06T18:45:16Z

In my rear view mirror, I could see the white Volvo coming up on me too quickly. I felt the impact reverberate through my bones as she hit me from behind, then again as the force propelled Pericles the Prius six feet into a Honda stopped in front of me. I heard a muffled crunch of the Honda slamming into the next car, then experienced deja vu watching the Volvo's grill lurch forward to slam me again.

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Obviously, I survived. Rental Prius #5 may not be so fortunate. Being sandwiched between a Volvo and a Honda Accord on an entrance ramp to I-5 in Seattle doesn't do a car's body good. The front crunch seemed to have compromised the battery or electrical system, so the hilariously congenial mechanics at the Hertz 188 repair center near SeaTac airport may require voodoo and fairy dust for its resurrection.

I was most annoyed by the wreck because it stopped me en route to a 6 PM meeting with the "residents" of Nickelsville, a group of homeless people who are organizing and agitating much like the SafeGround I stayed with in Sacramento. But I did learn some interesting things about the local scene from the state patrolman who responded to the wreck.

The other cars left after the patrolman distributed his documentation of our information, but I had to wait for a tow. The officer (who asked I not identify him) advised that while waiting I should maintain awareness because "transients" often passed through the area. I asked if by that he meant homeless people. Yes, he said, adding that he'd never heard them referred to as such until he'd relocated to Seattle a few years ago, but here he had been officially instructed to use that designation.

A "transient" couple often spend the night under low-hanging branches of a pine tree nearby, so he recommended I keep my windows up and doors locked after he left because they could be inclined to harass me. (Yes, I had to suppress a laugh because I was actually kind of excited wondering what their backstory might be.)

I told him about the Recession Roadtrip and asked if he had seen any expansion of the problem in the past year or two. His primary contact with "transients" is with those who sometimes venture down interstate on-ramps to panhandle from people stuck in rush hour traffic. Pedestrians aren't allowed on interstates, including the ramps, so he picks them up and transports them to the entrance, where they can legally beg passersby for money/food/work.

He said that this summer he'd encountered "a lot more" panhandlers. Previous summers, he might have to deal with one every two or three days, but this year it sometimes seemed he had to relocate two or three per day. Maybe there could be some scattered opportunists taking advantage of the situation, he said, but overall he believes the majority are ordinary people who've hit hard times because of the recession. He always has to empty pockets and search belongings to verify someone isn't carrying a weapon when he picks them up, and has never found a person who appeared to be falsifying an image of financial desperation.

After saying goodbye to Pericles at the Hertz repair shop, I picked up Prius rental #6, now dubbed "James" because as I turn east from Seattle I plan to shout: "Home, James." Heading back to DC won't be a direct route, obviously, but at least I'll be entering the final leg of the Recession Roadtrip.

Now signing off to head to an urgent care center, hopefully to learn the headache and back pain will clear up in a day or two. If I emerge from the appointment sporting a ridiculous neck brace, I promise to document in pictures and share with Atlantic readers so you can all have a good chuckle at my expense.

The Shire: When Dreams Become Delusions

2009-10-05T17:40:03Z

In doing advance research about foreclosures in Bend, Oregon, I happened across local news coverage of a most absurd housing development. A planned community with Old World architectural detailing designed to resemble a Lord of the Rings hobbit village, the Shire represents a prime example of irrational excesses that an untrammeled housing market can nurture. I intended to take pictures of the now bankrupt and foreclosed development so I could write a post ridiculing those behind its creation, until I learned one of them had committed suicide.
]]> county in Oregon. As I wrote last week, the fairly pervasive role of mortgage fraud throughout the local real estate market's expansion sets up the community for a steep fall.

Developer Ron Meyers originated the concept of building a community inspired by medieval fantasy and Old World architecture. He partnered with former emergency room doctor Lynn McDonald to secure financing for the project. Lynn and his wife Janet signed for a $3.4 million loan from Umpqua Bank in December 2004, and building began in fall 2005.

The Shire's artificially thatched-roof cottages would have dragon-shaped support beams and "hobbit holes" instead of tool sheds, and come with fantastical background stories and names like "Butterfly Cottage" or "Thatcher House." The meticulous landscaping includes stone paths along a man-made pond and a burbling stream, traversed by way of a rustic wooden bridge. The inhabitants were to adhere to a "Declaration of Interdependence" listing both practical and feel-good neighborly codes and covenants.

By the time the real estate market started to decline, only one Shire house had been completed and sold--for $650,000. A second nearly-finished house, "Butterfly Cottage," was unsuccessfully listed for sale at $899,000 in July 2008, the same month a notice of default on the development was filed with the Deschutes County Clerk's office, and just a couple of weeks after Lynn McDonald committed suicide. At the time of his death, Lynn and Janet McDonald owed Umpqua Bank more than $3 million.

Butterfly Cottage never found a buyer, and the bank foreclosed after the development failed to sell at public auction in December. The six-acre 14-lot property, including one nearly completed house, languished on the market for many months, listed at $1.3 million for the whole package.

In May, Castle Advisers LLC, a Hood River-based private equity firm that says it represents investors across the country, nabbed The Shire for a firesale bargain price of $750,000. The firm is re-branding the community "Forest Creek," and plans to sell off lots individually over the next five years as the market recovers.

NOTE: After writing two unflattering pieces from Bend, Oregon, I feel like I need to voice a disclaimer on behalf of its residents. I don't mean to paint Bend in a negative light; it's a beautiful little community and everyone I met there seemed incredibly nice. Also, the local Deschutes Brewery makes an excellent microbrew: Jubelale.