Property Tales

Find a decent place to live, and don't give it up. Even if the place is too small, or kept terribly, don't give it up. No matter what. Everybody needs a home. I had my reasons, but I regret I left mine.

—P.B., 69, dental assistant,

food services manager,

computer trainee

SINCE APRIL 30, 2003, when she left her small $389-per-month room with private toilet in an SRO tucked away on one of the least fancy corners in the Gramercy Park area, P.B.'s address has been a P.O. box.

"I had my apartment for 12 years—and was harassed by management the whole time. The place was in terrible condition—paint peeling, roaches everywhere and broken light sockets that burned me badly. I went to Housing Court many times—there was stipulation after stipulation after stipulation that my landlord make repairs, but he never complied. I stayed home waiting for workers, losing a day's pay, but they didn't show—or if they came, they'd make things worse.

"They broke in several times—destroyed my door locks, messed up my furniture and clothes, even sprayed 'Flit' on my food so I got poisoned. I called the police and the DA, but they said they couldn't do anything because there were no witnesses. I was living in hell. Anxiety from the situation gave me high blood pressure and ulcers—my medical records prove it."

Saying she'd rather sleep in the street than pay for a place unfit to live in, P.B. withheld rent for a year. When she owed about $4000, the landlord sued to evict her for nonpayment.

"I knew even if I paid all that money, it wouldn't change things, and I couldn't stand it anymore. So, I left," she says. "The landlord claims he evicted me, but I chose to leave. That's how I became homeless."

P.B. stuffed all her belongings into an $85-per-month unit in a Harlem storage facility. She figured she'd stay with friends for several months while searching for another apartment. But she couldn't find anything affordable.

"I have social security, but it's not that much. So if I pay more than $700 a month for rent, I can't afford food. Finding a place in NYC for $700 per month is nearly impossible."

Tired of imposing on friends, last November P.B. resorted to a Lower East Side shelter that sleeps 96 homeless women 10 to a room, dormitory-style. Bathrooms are shared, but residents have private lockers. According to New York Coalition for the Homeless, there are currently more than 37,000 homeless men, women and children sleeping each night in the city's shelter system. That number is the highest in New York City history. Thousands more sleep on city streets, park benches and subways.

"I get the same bed every night, provided I'm there by 10 p.m. If I miss curfew, my bed is assigned to someone else and I have to wait for another to become available," P.B. says. "Everyone leaves between 10 a.m. and 2 p.m., when they clean. It's kept very clean, and they give us three cooked meals a day. Most of the women are clean and respectful. I feel safe, but can't stand the curfew. I love walking near Lincoln Center at night, but can't, because I'd lose my bed. They turn lights off at 11 p.m., so I can't even read. But it beats a park bench or Grand Central, where I've slept on occasion."

P.B. has applied for a Section 8 voucher, which would subsidize her rent—she'd pay 30 percent of her income; the voucher covers the rest. Alternatively, she's applied for low-cost senior citizen housing that she can afford—but, she says, there are few places for many applicants.

"I have grown children who are successful and have nice homes, but I can't impose my life on theirs," she says. "They don't know I'm homeless. I'm afraid they'd be ashamed of me."

P.B. isn't wasting time sitting around and moping. She's apartment-hunting and taking computer classes so she can get a job. She takes good care of herself. If you sat next to P.B. on the subway, you'd have no idea she's homeless. Heck, she could be your neighbor. o