Walking in the shoes of Ventura's homeless

There are those who think that giving food, showers, clothing and other no-strings handouts enables a homeless person to remain in that situation.

Then there are those who feel that without clean clothes, a freshly washed self and a full stomach, a person doesn’t have the wherewithal to change their situation.

On Thursday, a group that’s firmly in the latter camp acted on those beliefs and treated dozens of people to lunch in downtown Ventura.

This is the third year Unitarian Universalist Church of Ventura’s Lift Up Your Voice program has put on “Take a Hungry Person to Lunch.” It coincides with National Hunger and Homelessness Awareness Week, held each year in the week before Thanksgiving.

Changing a life starts with a single interaction, organizers say, and a meal offers that opportunity.

Shelah Wilgus, a member of the church, has participated since the program began. Last year, she took to lunch a couple who had family in Florida. She, along with others involved in the church's homeless ministry, helped send the couple there.

That isn’t an isolated incident, said Lift Up Your Voice Interim Director Sue Brinkmeyer. A couple who took a former teacher to lunch last year kept in touch, and over the year they helped get into her permanent housing.

“That’s kind of what it takes — adopting, in a sense, a person,” she said.

Wilgus is passionate about helping the community she feels has no reason to exist.

“There’s just something wrong with a society in which people go hungry,” she said.

Members of the church formerly prepared peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on donated Noah’s Bagels and passed them out at downtown parks until the city had them stop, Wilgus said.

Several years ago, the city implemented a “hand up" versus a "handout” approach to working with the homeless, and several social service agencies went the same direction.

Project Understanding, the Turning Point Foundation and the Salvation Army got rid of many drop-in services — showers, mail and laundry facilities among them — unless a person agreed to participate in programs or meet other accountability standards.

The city, some nonprofits and businesses discourage people from giving to panhandlers. A donation to a group that works to make lasting changes in a person’s life will go further than money, which is often used to buy liquor or drugs, they say.

Wilgus doesn’t buy it, and she isn't alone among the diverse community that works with the population.

“They must stay here so they get peanut butter and jelly once a week,” she said sarcastically. “Come on, that just doesn’t make sense. We’ve got to have something for them.”

That something this day was lunch at Nature’s Grill. She was with volunteers Tessa Weeks and Pam Waldron, who joined Michelle Mullin and Joseph Brown for tacos, burgers and pita sandwiches.

Mullin has been homeless for three months, this time around. She receives Social Security and disability payments, which together total less than $1,000. She recently went to look for a place, having last rented an apartment three years ago.

“Rents have skyrocketed,” she said.

Rent for a one-bedroom apartment in the city averages $1,400 a month, and even single-occupancy rooms, many with a shared bathroom, can cost upwards of $800.

To Mullin, her best bets are that a spot opens up at the relatively cheaper Ventura Inn or that she can get into River Haven, a transitional living facility made up of domes off Harbor Boulevard.

Brown is lucky. After about a year and a half on the streets, he moved into a room in The Mission Hotel, where he lives now.

At least three of the downtown hotels that provide hundreds of very affordable units have swapped hands in recent years: The Leewood, The Mission Hotel and The Hamilton. That concerns those who work with the community, who mostly agree permanent housing is the best way to end a life of homelessness.

There’s nervousness over what the relatively new owner plans to do with The Mission Hotel, Brown said, but so far, it’s been “wonderful."

Those involved know a single meal won’t change a life  — at least, maybe the not the lives of the homeless.

“It’s a humbling experience. It's an opportunity to meet a friend,” said Waldron, who is in her third year volunteering. “I always walk away feeling like I get a hell of a lot more out of this than they did.”