By Carol Tannenhauser

Considering the amount of discomfort and controversy their presence engenders, you would think there were hundreds of homeless people living on the streets of the Upper West Side. In fact, there are currently about 32, according to statistics sent to WSR by the NYC Department of Homeless Services (DHS). Some nonprofits claim that number is underestimated, but even if it were doubled, it should still be relatively easy to get that many people housed, you might also think. Why doesn’t the city get it done?

It isn’t for lack of trying. The city spent $3.2 billion on homelessness in 2019, up from $1.5 billion in 2014, according to the Wall Street Journal. “It has to do with the nature, circumstances, and experiences of each person on the street,” said Issac McGinn, a spokesperson for DHS, in a telephone interview.

No one has to live outside in New York City. By virtue of the Callahan Consent Decree of 1981, everyone who is homeless has a legal right to shelter. If you want a bed, the city must provide one (and more.) Indeed, over 60,000 homeless people are currently being housed and fed in city shelters, often run by nonprofits. The “individuals experiencing unsheltered homelessness,” as DHS prefers to call them, choose not to come inside and cannot be forced to, or to accept services. In many cases, mental illness and substance abuse play a role, but it also has to do with “holding onto their independence,” said Lisa Lombardi, deputy executive director of Urban Pathways, a nonprofit that has been helping homeless New Yorkers move into and sustain permanent housing for 45 years.

“These are people who have fallen through every available social safety net,” McGinn said, “and for one reason or another may be distrustful of institutional settings. They may have had a bad experience when they turned to government for help in the past. Our work is a slow, persistent process of rebuilding that trust.”

It begins with outreach. The local nonprofit Goddard Riverside is the social service agency contracted by the city to cover the UWS, from the river to Central Park West. Their outreach teams perform regular rounds — three times daily, seven days a week — among the neighborhood’s unsheltered population, building relationships and “all-important trust,” Lombardi said. They try to get individuals to accept services and ultimately “come inside.”

To make the process easier and less onerous, in the early 2000s, in partnership with nonprofit service provider Bowery Residents’ Committee, the city piloted a type of “low-barrier” facility for individuals coming off the streets, called a “Safe Haven.” From those original 19 beds, there are now more than 1,800 Safe Haven beds throughout the city. Last month, Mayor Bill de Blasio announced plans to bring 1,000 additional Safe Haven beds online in the next two years, according to McGinn. And 350 are already in development.

Safe Havens are alternatives to traditional homeless shelters. They are smaller and lack the rigid rules, such as curfews and required sobriety. (There are rules against using substances onsite.) There’s a Safe Haven operating quietly in a townhouse in the West 100s, not far from Central Park, run by Urban Pathways. (We are omitting the exact street to protect the privacy of the residents.) WSR visited the 33-bed facility last week.

There we met Marc, who is about to move into his own place in Astoria, Queens, after having lived on the streets — first in Florida, then Texas, then New York City — for 17 years, from the time he was 18. He doesn’t drink or use drugs, “unless you count marijuana,” he said. He isn’t mentally ill and he doesn’t have a criminal record. He’s a 35-year-old man whose divorced mother died when he was 15, leaving him and four siblings in the care of an older sister who was hardly more than a child herself. When he was 17, she kicked Marc out. He was 31 before he finally got the help and guidance he needed to start to build a stable life. It began with Goddard Riverside’s outreach team.

“Goddard Riverside found me,” he recalled. “I was sleeping on 106th Street where there’s a fork in the road — that triangular park — and I heard somebody say, ‘Excuse me, sir. Do you need help?’ And I went, ‘Yes!’”

“Marc is unusual, because he’s very self aware.” said Lisa Lombardi, who oversees the Safe Haven. “It’s often much harder. Still, we place about 25 people a year in permanent, often, supportive housing.” Supportive housing generally means subsidized housing with onsite social services. Marc had two prior placements that “didn’t stick,” Lombardi said, before arriving at the UWS Safe Haven.

”There’s a lot of personalities in here,” he said, “but we make it work.” The facility offers single and double rooms, with singles serving as rewards for progress. There is an adjacent office with staff, including a director, case manager and housing specialist, and a kitchen, laundry room, and dining area. Three meals a day are offered, with a side of social services: case management, job readiness training, and help finding permanent housing.

“You see the physical transformation of clients, because they’ve been out there for so long, not in a bed, not taking care of themselves,” said Lisa Lombardi. ”They come in and begin to look better after one good night’s sleep. We help them make the connection between wellness and self management, and also, when you stop using drugs or drinking so much, you’ll feel better, and maybe eventually stop altogether.”

“The location is amazing,” Lombardi continued. “That’s what we want for our clients. Lets face it, it makes them feel good. And when you go outside, you wouldn’t know what we are…that’s what we want for the neighborhood. We want to be a good neighbor and partner. That’s what Urban Pathways is all about. We have a great landlord. If there are concerns we deal with them.”

According to Arianna Fishman, press secretary of DHS, more than 2,450 formerly unsheltered individuals experiencing homelessness have been placed in permanent housing throughout the city since 2016. There are currently approximately 3,500 left. Marc reflects about his own journey.

“When you’re on the street, your primitive brain kicks in,” he said. “It’s all about survival. You’re thinking about where you’re going to eat and sleep all day. What got me through really was the strength of my mom. It became tenfold in me. What she went through in the 80s and 90s empowered her little boy to be strong. I think she’d be really proud.”

Fishman asked the last question of Marc: “What do you wish you could have said to pedestrians passing you by when you were still on the street?”

He thought, cried a little, then said, “If you only knew that a rose could grow from the concrete.”

Coming next: When people who are experiencing unsheltered homelessness act badly.