It is 8:30 a.m., around 22 degrees in downtown Atlanta, and workers are scurrying into offices for their first day back at work after the holidays.
Outside one large concrete building along Peachtree Street, a crowd of around 50 men and women — most of them in tattered clothing and unraveling shoes, carrying motley possessions in multiple bags — stand quietly in the freezing cold.
At exactly 9 a.m., the door opens. They all rush in, soaking up the new-found warmth. Some have been on the streets for hours, some all night. But this isn’t a homeless shelter or a soup kitchen.
“Good morning,” shouts another security guard, lining them up to check bags. “Welcome to the Central Library.”
For many of them, it’s the beginning of a 12-hour shift, where they will sit and read newspapers and magazines, or surf the Internet, from the time the library opens to the time it closes. Some will just sit and stay warm and safe.
Hope Pitts, 22, sits in a chair in the back of the fourth floor. She has come to the library every day it has been open for the last four years.
Avoiding shelters, she sleeps in the streets and under bridges at night. She said she has been assaulted and raped several times. With absolutely nothing else to do, she sits in her chair all day. Hardly moving. Rarely speaking.
“I just wanted to find a place to feel safe. It is tough being a woman out there,” Pitts said. “Sometimes I read romance novels. Because they are telling stories about love and being wanted.”
The Central Branch of the Atlanta-Fulton Public Library, like others across the country, has a serious homeless issue. Metro Atlanta patrons also have complained about the homeless in DeKalb, Cobb and Gwinnett county libraries.
The American Library Association considers the homeless pouring into public libraries to be a nationwide concern, particularly for urban systems. But whether it is a problem for the Atlanta-Fulton system — which has a projected 2012 budget of $29.97 million for more than 30 branches — or not, depends on whom you ask.
Marty Reed, a Friends of the Central Library board member who has been volunteering there for about five years, estimates that, on any given day, about 20 to 25 percent of the library’s visitors are homeless. At a recent literary event, he watched attendees leave early, obviously uncomfortable being around other patrons in ragged clothes with foul body odor. He said he’s certain the homeless are causing others to stay away.
Like Jeff Skodnik, a 53-year-old Atlanta resident.
“As a taxpayer we are spending a lot of money for wonderful library resources. But from a practical perspective, it looks like a good percentage of what is going on is warehousing vagrants,” Skodnik said. “The library is not being used as a library. It is being abused and taken over by the homeless.”
Skodnik, a regular user of the library who has checked out books, videos and DVDs for the last 18 years, said it is also a problem at his neighborhood branch — Ponce De Leon. At the Auburn Avenue Research Library, he said he once, “saw a guy practically taking a shower in the bathroom.”
But James A. Taylor, who has been a librarian in Fulton County for 29 years, sees things differently.
“I used to think we had a homeless problem, now I don’t,” Taylor said. “In the last three years I have had two friends — who otherwise are like me and you, college graduates, with a house and family — who have fallen through the social net and are now homeless.”
Even if officials wanted to do something, like ban or limit access to the homeless, the chances of it happening are slim. ALA President Molly Raphael said legal and philosophical reasons prevent it.
“That would be absolutely diametrically opposed to what libraries stand for, which is open to all people,” said Raphael, who dealt with the issue herself as a former libraries director in Portland, Ore., and Washington, D.C. “The answer is not to get the homeless out of the library. The answer is to deal with homelessness within the community.”
Atlanta-Fulton libraries Director John Szabo said he knows many taxpaying cardholders are put off by the large numbers of homeless milling around the Central Library.
“The perception is something that we’re aware of, and it’s challenging,” Szabo said. “But we’re a public building, and we welcome everyone.”
Most directors would consider driving out a class of people unthinkable, Raphael said, especially during a recession when those down on their luck need resources — such as public access computers — to look for jobs. The association suggests libraries adopt clear rules of conduct that can be fairly applied to all patrons and work with social services to find help for those who need it.
Anyone who comes to any Atlanta-Fulton branch must adhere to a conduct code, which prohibits panhandling, bathing, bedrolls and blankets, sleeping, bringing in more than two bags, poor hygiene, disruptive behavior and “infested personal items.”
Szabo said the libraries have had only minor incidents occur, such as patrons entering intoxicated, people sleeping or people caught bathing in restrooms. For the most part, the homeless seem to be using resources, such as reading books and magazines and surfing the Web, he said.
“It’s a safe place,” Szabo said. “It’s a welcoming place.”
Shortly after the library opens, Kent Ruffin, 47, makes his way to the periodicals on the second floor. The area — used mostly by the homeless — is segregated behind a giant staircase and can’t be easily seen from the elevator. There are no comfortable sofas there, just hard stools.
Ruffin, who wears a black patch over his left eye, usually sleeps at the Atlanta Union Mission, before leaving at 4:30 a.m. to roam the streets, find food and wait for 9 a.m.
“This is the most decent place you can come. I can just come here and read the paper or a book,” Ruffin said. “And you ain’t around all the craziness, chaos and the stupid stuff going on.”
Most of the activity is on the fourth floor, where the library houses public computers and people can get information about jobs, training and educational opportunities. There is also an office of the Fulton County Workforce Development.
Taylor, who also hosts the popular Writers-in-Focus television show on Fulton County Government Television, said it remains important to “bring services to people who wouldn’t be able to use them.”
“We are getting more and more people, which is a direct reflection of the economy. The social net is smaller, jobs are few, people become more dependent,” said Taylor, who as the system’s outreach services manager, goes to homeless shelters and senior centers to encourage people to come to the libraries.
Usage statistics don’t suggest patrons are staying away from branches with visible homeless.
The Central Library had about 644,500 visits in 2011, a 3 percent increase over 2010 visits. The Ponce de Leon branch had almost 263,500 visits last year, a 32 percent increase over the previous year, a trend partly attributable to the downward economy as people are using the facility to search for jobs.
Libraries issue three-month “courtesy cards” to patrons who want a library card, but don’t have a permanent address. The Central Library has 861 cards issued, while Ponce de Leon handed out 17. Library spokeswoman Kelly Robinson said the courtesy cards make up only a fraction of the 500,000 library cards issued system wide.
Sidney Muchene is using the library to print copies of his resume and use the free Wi-Fi for his laptop. He is not homeless, but is in desperate need of a job. He is not bothered by the homeless men and women beside him.
“The only place they can come is here, so I understand their reason for being here,” Muchene said. “In order to make a proper turnaround they have to have proper exposure and options.”
Nearby, Negussie Andargie, 58, is trying to do just that. He reads over a pamphlet that includes educational and social service programs throughout the county. Occasionally, he peers over at the computer section. He is next in line to sit at station 16.
“You come to the library to get away from it all for a little while,” said Andargie, who has been homeless on and off for a decade and without a job for two years. “And I have never felt unwanted here.”
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