Out in the cold

SITTING ON A MILK CRATE, HANDS TUCKED BETWEEN HIS LEGS, Jon Benson braced himself against the cold. The Binion's hotel-casino sign to the south flashed 5 p.m. and 42 degrees. It wasn't going to get any earlier -- or warmer. But Benson said he would be all right. After all, he pointed out, he was wearing tennis shoes, socks, two pairs of jeans, a T-shirt, a polo shirt, two sweaters, a parka (collars popped) and a baseball cap.

Benson is one of about 20 residents of the "Main Street Condos," a soiled stretch of sidewalk just south of Owens Avenue. The "condos" are made of cardboard, newspaper and blankets. Cars rush by 10 feet away. The residents, seemingly tightknit and certainly wry, like to say that they have a sunroof on clear days, a stove in the summer and a freezer in the winter.

They also have a splendid view of Catholic Charities. The nonprofit organization's 10-acre property, which includes a 200-bed shelter for men 18 and older, clean sheets and hot showers, sprawls on the other side of the street. When the homeless complain about "run-down" and "dangerous" shelters, they're not talking about Catholic Charities. It's the Taj Mahal of local shelters.

Which begs the question: Why wouldn't Benson and the other male residents of the Main Street Condos seek shelter at Catholic Charities? The answer depends on whom you ask.

Shelter staff and government employees say the homeless are set in their ways, comfortable on the streets and communal. Many homeless, they say, don't feel safe or sound in shelters. They don't do well with rules. They shun authority. They have too much pride.

Lack of awareness of the shelters, their capacities and their programs may also be a factor, said Phillip Hollon, director of Catholic Charities' residential services division.

"They just don't have the information they need," said Hollon. "They're not aware of the facilities we have here. We've got beds available. They just don't know where to go or who to see. Once they come into the program and go through our intake process, they're on the road to becoming more self-sufficient. It's just getting them here or getting the information to them."

Added Shannon West, Clark County's homeless services coordinator: "It's hard to explain. I guess folks who are homeless are not making the greatest choices in their lives, because they are either in the throes of addiction or the throes of mental illness. Perhaps that's part of what's making them stay on the streets."

The residents of the Main Street Condos offer a different explanation. They say the shelters have too many rules: You can't smoke, you can't have any alcohol in your system, you can't leave once you enter.

It's like being in prison, they say.

"I don't want to stay inside for 16 straight hours," said Benson, looking at the long line in front of Catholic Charities. "I want to be able to smoke a cigarette or get some fresh air or get something to eat. The last time these people can eat is 2:45 in the afternoon. That's when the Salvation Army serves dinner. This line starts at 3. If you want to get in line, you got to get up there and eat and you can't eat again until 7 in the morning. No one in their right mind wants to go that long without food.

"At least out here, people will bring us a sandwich and potato chips or something. That's why I choose to stay out here: the freedom of being able to eat and move around if I want to." Other Main Street Condos residents pointed out that if they have an afternoon job, they can't get to the shelter before 5 p.m.

Benson's "neighbor" Betty said she lived at Shade Tree for a while, but was kicked out for violating the rules. She said she was accused of not keeping her sleeping area clean, forgetting to sign up for her bed and coming in late.

Now, said Betty, her options are limited.

"I can go up to the Salvation Army and get bedbugs," she said from beneath a blanket. "I can go to the Rescue Mission, but that's a walk and a half and I got to carry all my stuff with me. It's just not worth it. It's easier to sit right here and go back and forth across the street to use the bathroom [at Catholic Charities]. At least you got somebody here who will watch your stuff. It makes more sense to sleep here all night long."

While opinions vary on why many of downtown's homeless don't sleep in shelters, one thing's clear: Beds are available. Catholic Charities has yet to reach capacity this winter, said Hollon. And, said West, community centers can be converted into shelters if Catholic Charities, the Salvation Army, Shade Tree and the Rescue Mission do reach capacity.

Obviously, the next step is figuring out how to get more people off the sidewalks and into the shelters. Hollon suggests more outreach workers. West agrees, but adds that permanent housing -- not temporary shelter -- is the ultimate goal.

Benson said the shelters should at least let people step outside for a smoke and some fresh air. They don't even have to leave the property, he said.

"It's a tough issue," said West, "because we want to keep people safe from the elements and alive. At the same time, we want to work toward helping people end their homelessness. Those two things meet at this very delicate juxtaposition, if you will."

In the meantime, Jon Benson will continue to spread two blankets on the Main Street sidewalk. He'll pile 14 more blankets on top of him and close his eyes. He'll finally wake -- assuming he's able to sleep -- before 4:30 a.m., when Metro officers sweep him and his neighbors off the sidewalk, then he'll get in the coffee-and-doughnut line at Catholic Charities. Coffee and doughnuts are served at 7.

"It's nice to see people staying in there," Benson said, noting that Catholic Charities does a lot of good things for the homeless, "but they need to look and find out why people are staying out here. That's something they should be concerned about. Their theory is that we're all just crazy or alcoholics or druggies, but most people out here don't even drink and could probably pass a drug test.

"But sometimes you just want to sit up at night and talk to your friends, like normal people do. But instead of calling them on the telephone, I'll just tap them on the foot and say, 'Hey, man, what's going on?'"

Matt O'Brien is CityLife's news editor. He can be reached at 871-6780 ext. 350 or mobrien@lvcitylife.com.