Atlanta shelter fights for survival

Alex Jackson is on trial.

The homeless shelter at Peachtree and Pine streets has banned Jackson for fighting, but on this bitterly cold and soggy Wednesday morning, he’s saying all the right things to win his way back in.

“I was being inappropriate getting into fights,” Jackson earnestly tells the shelter officials weighing his fate in the shelter’s conference room. “I’m just trying to go for another chance.”

Atlanta’s most controversial homeless shelter, which has been in operation since 1997, is also on trial these days, fighting attempts to evict it. Fulton County Superior Court Judge Craig Schwall set a hearing for Feb. 3, wanting first to ascertain the state of the facility, the services it offers and what will happen to the residents should it shut down.

The greater Atlanta community put the shelter, operated by the Metro Atlanta Task Force for the Homeless, on trial years ago. Some city officials and nearby businesses have complained that it merely warehouses homeless men rather than helping them become productive citizens. On the other side, the shelter and its advocates insist that it offers a variety of services and changes many lives.

Earlier this month, an Atlanta Journal-Constitution reporter and photographer spent a full day inside the 100,000-square-foot brick building, taking a look at the reality beneath the rhetoric.

They found a bare-bones operation that relies heavily on volunteers and shelter residents to keep things running. They watched as a handful of counselors worked to link residents to other agencies that can help them over the hurdles that loom so large in their lives: getting proof of identity or birth certificates, vouchers for food, rent or utilities, help finding child care, food stamps or medical care.

In contrast to that busy scene, a few hundred men spent hours sitting in folding chairs in a dimly lit basement room, most of them doing little more than holding a blanket and pillow as they waited for a bunk.

Like most things, the shelter is a mixed bag, the scene of both victories and defeats. Whether one judges it a success or a failure may depend more on the observer’s core beliefs than the facts observed. It’s a question of what’s possible, what’s reasonable to expect and where one chooses to turn one’s gaze.

Executive director Anita Beaty wants the focus on people such as Curtis Motley. In 1995, Motley, now 57, fell into a deep depression after the sudden death of his wife. He turned to crack cocaine, which claimed his life for about a decade. When he came to the shelter, “I was beat down, raggedy and disgusted, with nothing but the clothes on my back,” he said.

Starting with small chores, Motley has worked his way up to directing the 40 resident-volunteers at the shelter. The RVs, as they are called, are homeless men here who are trained to provide security, counsel others and answer the hotline number. They are all subject to drug-testing.

Motley mentors the young guys who need a role model. “When I’m helping people, I’m helping myself,” he said.

Aaron Bowie came to the shelter after losing his job as a restaurant server. He worked his way up to a transitional housing program, found another server job and is moving into his own apartment. He has returned to Peachtree and Pine on this Wednesday just long enough to pick up a voucher to help furnish his new place.

Success, however, is often elusive — or at least more ambiguous. This same day, shelter workers also celebrate the return of Cocoa Chanel, a transgender resident who had gone a long way, during a previous stay, toward beating a dependency on crack cocaine. Chanel was even helping other clients at the shelter — until she slid back into bad habits.

“My life has been crazy,” says Chanel, sitting wrapped in a blanket to take the chill off being on the street. “Crack cocaine is so serious.”

In the shelter lobby, about 25 people are waiting to meet with the shelter staff and volunteers, who help up to 300 people a week. This shelter, unlike some others, does not mandate that people enroll in programs to address their underlying problems. If a person wants to just spend the night, they’re welcome to, so long as they don’t cause any trouble.

For those who do seek assistance, staffers help craft job résumés or comb the Internet for work. Residents can take classes in a computer lab or work in the on-site bicycle shop, which earns them their own bike. A doctor and nurses come in two days a week. GED classes occur on Thursdays. Alcoholics Anonymous meets on Wednesday nights.