I was delighted when New York City Voices publisher Ken Steele invited me to write an article about my experience becoming "New York, New York" eligible to secure affordable housing in a supportive, non-invasive, independent, safe living situation. If readers may learn from my story, which is becoming less unique, something positive would come of a very rough period of my life in addition to my new apartment!
Since August 1994 until this past November, I had lived in a two bedroom walkup apartment in the Little Italy section of Soho. It was and up and coming neighborhood; friendly and convenient and fun. The rent was $1,000 a month and I shared the rent and expenses with a roommate. I was unemployed and my mother could no longer help me pay the rent so I had to give up my apartment and go into "the system" including being in a shelter to become "New York, New York" certified in order to qualify to receive a financial subsidy from the state to help me get an apartment.
From November 5, 1997 to May 21, 1998, I lived in what Urban Pathways, a large, emasculating social service bureaucracy, termed a "transitional residence," called the "Traveler's Hotel." This is after I spent one night on two chairs at the Oliveri Center, a drop-in center for indigent women.
At Traveler's Hotel, a midtown SRO-type shelter, across the street from Port Authority, I found that for certain parties, shelters are not free. I paid approximately 50% of my entitlements each month for services I did not wish to utilize, including but not limited to medication monitoring on Traveler's schedule, not necessarily what the psychiatrist prescribed, to have a very small room with a window overlooking a huge red neon sign for an Odd Job store.
Compared to my former address in Soho, I knew I had hit rock bottom, but both sets of my parents are vehemently opposed to enabling me at home. During my stay with Urban Pathways, I kept rationalizing. "at least I am not on the street."
At Traveler's Hotel, there were three overcooked meals a day, including a weekly special of Oxtails. When they were served, I recalled residents sucking every morscle of meat from the circular bones in the makeshift, cramped day room that also had to serve as our small dining room. There were two bathrooms on each floor, virtually no water pressure, hot water on most occasions, one pay phone for 40 people, and an overabundance of rules, vermin, and attitude.
One glorified janitor working the evening shift smoked in non-designated areas where residents could not and tried unsuccessfully to maintain Gestapo-like order with intelligence not being this person's strong suit. Another worker on the night shift would smoke were it was prohibited and would monopolize the television, which was provided for the residents. There were no social workers after 5:00 or 6:00 p.m., so sick residents went unattended after business hours. Even so, regular "support" staff, including case managers, a "housing" specialist, and social workers were more interested in policy and the Jerry Springer Show than our progress. I received no help finding housing from this agency, yet Urban Pathways documented that they were responsible for my permanent housing placement. The truth is I made all the arrangements to locate my current housing program.
Now, I live alone with two cats in supported housing in the Northeast Bronx with a scattered-site program, Inca Housing. I adore my new working class, friendly, relaxed, multiethnic neighborhood. It is convenient to mass transit, nearby the Bronx Zoo and across the street from Van Courtland Park. Mom no longer has to help with the rent, which is substantially subsidized by the NYS Office of Mental Health. I believe I am the most stable I have ever been.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Beyond Soho
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Saturday, December 3, 2011
Beyond Soho
I was delighted when New York City Voices publisher Ken Steele invited me to write an article about my experience becoming "New York, New York" eligible to secure affordable housing in a supportive, non-invasive, independent, safe living situation. If readers may learn from my story, which is becoming less unique, something positive would come of a very rough period of my life in addition to my new apartment!
Since August 1994 until this past November, I had lived in a two bedroom walkup apartment in the Little Italy section of Soho. It was and up and coming neighborhood; friendly and convenient and fun. The rent was $1,000 a month and I shared the rent and expenses with a roommate. I was unemployed and my mother could no longer help me pay the rent so I had to give up my apartment and go into "the system" including being in a shelter to become "New York, New York" certified in order to qualify to receive a financial subsidy from the state to help me get an apartment.
From November 5, 1997 to May 21, 1998, I lived in what Urban Pathways, a large, emasculating social service bureaucracy, termed a "transitional residence," called the "Traveler's Hotel." This is after I spent one night on two chairs at the Oliveri Center, a drop-in center for indigent women.
At Traveler's Hotel, a midtown SRO-type shelter, across the street from Port Authority, I found that for certain parties, shelters are not free. I paid approximately 50% of my entitlements each month for services I did not wish to utilize, including but not limited to medication monitoring on Traveler's schedule, not necessarily what the psychiatrist prescribed, to have a very small room with a window overlooking a huge red neon sign for an Odd Job store.
Compared to my former address in Soho, I knew I had hit rock bottom, but both sets of my parents are vehemently opposed to enabling me at home. During my stay with Urban Pathways, I kept rationalizing. "at least I am not on the street."
At Traveler's Hotel, there were three overcooked meals a day, including a weekly special of Oxtails. When they were served, I recalled residents sucking every morscle of meat from the circular bones in the makeshift, cramped day room that also had to serve as our small dining room. There were two bathrooms on each floor, virtually no water pressure, hot water on most occasions, one pay phone for 40 people, and an overabundance of rules, vermin, and attitude.
One glorified janitor working the evening shift smoked in non-designated areas where residents could not and tried unsuccessfully to maintain Gestapo-like order with intelligence not being this person's strong suit. Another worker on the night shift would smoke were it was prohibited and would monopolize the television, which was provided for the residents. There were no social workers after 5:00 or 6:00 p.m., so sick residents went unattended after business hours. Even so, regular "support" staff, including case managers, a "housing" specialist, and social workers were more interested in policy and the Jerry Springer Show than our progress. I received no help finding housing from this agency, yet Urban Pathways documented that they were responsible for my permanent housing placement. The truth is I made all the arrangements to locate my current housing program.
Now, I live alone with two cats in supported housing in the Northeast Bronx with a scattered-site program, Inca Housing. I adore my new working class, friendly, relaxed, multiethnic neighborhood. It is convenient to mass transit, nearby the Bronx Zoo and across the street from Van Courtland Park. Mom no longer has to help with the rent, which is substantially subsidized by the NYS Office of Mental Health. I believe I am the most stable I have ever been.
Since August 1994 until this past November, I had lived in a two bedroom walkup apartment in the Little Italy section of Soho. It was and up and coming neighborhood; friendly and convenient and fun. The rent was $1,000 a month and I shared the rent and expenses with a roommate. I was unemployed and my mother could no longer help me pay the rent so I had to give up my apartment and go into "the system" including being in a shelter to become "New York, New York" certified in order to qualify to receive a financial subsidy from the state to help me get an apartment.
From November 5, 1997 to May 21, 1998, I lived in what Urban Pathways, a large, emasculating social service bureaucracy, termed a "transitional residence," called the "Traveler's Hotel." This is after I spent one night on two chairs at the Oliveri Center, a drop-in center for indigent women.
At Traveler's Hotel, a midtown SRO-type shelter, across the street from Port Authority, I found that for certain parties, shelters are not free. I paid approximately 50% of my entitlements each month for services I did not wish to utilize, including but not limited to medication monitoring on Traveler's schedule, not necessarily what the psychiatrist prescribed, to have a very small room with a window overlooking a huge red neon sign for an Odd Job store.
Compared to my former address in Soho, I knew I had hit rock bottom, but both sets of my parents are vehemently opposed to enabling me at home. During my stay with Urban Pathways, I kept rationalizing. "at least I am not on the street."
At Traveler's Hotel, there were three overcooked meals a day, including a weekly special of Oxtails. When they were served, I recalled residents sucking every morscle of meat from the circular bones in the makeshift, cramped day room that also had to serve as our small dining room. There were two bathrooms on each floor, virtually no water pressure, hot water on most occasions, one pay phone for 40 people, and an overabundance of rules, vermin, and attitude.
One glorified janitor working the evening shift smoked in non-designated areas where residents could not and tried unsuccessfully to maintain Gestapo-like order with intelligence not being this person's strong suit. Another worker on the night shift would smoke were it was prohibited and would monopolize the television, which was provided for the residents. There were no social workers after 5:00 or 6:00 p.m., so sick residents went unattended after business hours. Even so, regular "support" staff, including case managers, a "housing" specialist, and social workers were more interested in policy and the Jerry Springer Show than our progress. I received no help finding housing from this agency, yet Urban Pathways documented that they were responsible for my permanent housing placement. The truth is I made all the arrangements to locate my current housing program.
Now, I live alone with two cats in supported housing in the Northeast Bronx with a scattered-site program, Inca Housing. I adore my new working class, friendly, relaxed, multiethnic neighborhood. It is convenient to mass transit, nearby the Bronx Zoo and across the street from Van Courtland Park. Mom no longer has to help with the rent, which is substantially subsidized by the NYS Office of Mental Health. I believe I am the most stable I have ever been.
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