Covenant House Faith Community

Clarence arrived at Covenant House a few days after Mother's Day. Though we never obtained a formal diagnosis, our best guess was that Clarence had a developmental disability. One of our first efforts was to refer Clarence for a psychiatric evaluation at our mental health program. While the psychiatrist agreed that a developmental disability was likely, that did not qualify Clarence for the mental health program; a cognitive delay is not considered a mental health issue. We then sent Clarence to our Regional Training Center for job readiness training. Clarence was told he could not participate because his reading ability was too low.

During this period of initial assessment, we hesitantly attempted to contact Clarence's previous caregivers, hesitantly because there was indication from Clarence's description of his home life that he had been the victim of abuse. Clarence, a 19-year-old youth, described being used to perform domestic services for his guardian's family and being harassed, perhaps beaten, by her son until Clarence had had enough and decided to leave. We never knew how Clarence had made his way to New York City from rural Pennsylvania, only that he had spent a couple of nights sleeping on the subways before he made his way to our door. On one hand, we were interested in learning more of Clarence's history and confirming his identity. On the other hand, we were leery about informing a possibly abusive guardian about her victim's location. Our concerns were inconsequential as we were unable to make contact with Clarence's previous guardian; none of the contact numbers Clarence provided were valid. The only lead we had was Clarence's sole piece of identification, a school picture id. Clarence provided permission to release information from his old school and we sent a request for his records. If nothing else, we were hoping for confirmation of a disability so that we could proceed with locating appropriate supportive housing.

After sending Clarence's request for his school records, we entered into a period of waiting for a response, a period that was likely extended by the onset of summer, a time when schools are ending their year and preparing for a long break. On our end, our population was increasing and we had much to keep us busy aside from Clarence's needs. We had been averaging a census of 60 to 65 residents before summer, but as the summer progressed, our census began to increase. It was not long before our average increased to 70 to 75. We saw a greater increase in gang recruitment activity and theft among the residents. More of the new intakes had just been released from prison and there was a greater proclivity toward violent tendencies among our population. While Clarence's needs were unique and noticeable, especially his lack of personal hygiene habits, they were not the most troubling on the unit, and as a result, did not consume a majority, or even a representative amount, of our attention. It was easy to accept, and even appreciate, Clarence's innocent presence. A couple of staff took the initiative of washing Clarence's belongings and reminding him when he needed to change his clothes or take a shower, especially when the odor began to invite complaints from other residents, and with this arrangement, days and weeks passed, and we reached Clarence's 30-day limit.

Too often, we do not find appropriate housing for our residents within the 30-day allotted time limit. However, in Clarence's case, in our first 30 days, not only had we not secured housing, we were not even working on a lead. After the first 30 days, we were no closer to resolution than we were when he walked in our door (with the exception of having sent a request for his school records which had, as yet, produced no results). Without reservation and justified by Clarence's unique needs and situation, we applied for a 30-day extension. It was granted and Clarence's routine proceeded unchanged. To make the situation more challenging, Clarence's primary case manager, the person charged with exploring housing opportunities for Clarence, had left for a three-week vacation just prior to the expiration of Clarence's first 30 days. Another resident advisor (RA), staff responsible for the day-to-day needs of the residents, and I had taken on the responsibilities of the absent case manager. During my time at Covenant House, I never felt that I had had enough time in my day to complete the duties of RA; there were always several tasks left incomplete at the end of the day. Add to that the responsibility of navigating housing requirements and the knowledge that if that task is not completed adequately, then our residents are sent back to the street after their 30 days expire, or granted an extension to add to an ever-expanding in-house population, the only change I experienced in taking on case management duties was the loss of time I had to consider how little time I had. As my commitment to Covenant House was drawing to a close, I did not mind adding an hour or two to my shifts and I found prioritizing to be rather simple. First I would do what absolutely had to be done and then I would do what absolutely had to be done while responding to any crises along the way. It felt like working triage in a war zone. Scenes from MASH come to mind. "Incoming!!!"

The other RA had contacted Pennsylvania's Office of Developmental Programs and New York's Office of Mental Retardation and Developmental Disabilities and had received no encouragement. Pennsylvania felt that since Clarence was over 18 years old and chose to live in New York, then New York was responsible. New York felt that since Clarence was under 21 years old and that his legal guardian was a resident of Pennsylvania, then Pennsylvania was responsible and both of their responses were contingent upon the confirmation of a developmental disability. At the end of the first week of July, we received Clarence's school records which indicated Clarence had received Special Education services, but did not indicate why Clarence had qualified for Special Education. In other words, we were left with no confirmation of a developmental disability. Essentially, at the mid-point of Clarence's second 30-day residency, we were confirmed as having made no progress.

I had worked at Covenant House's older males crisis center for more than five months. Given that residents have 30-days to find better housing, considering that many residents are granted an extension but balanced by the fact that a large majority of residents do not stay for a full 30 days, working with 60 different youth per month is a reasonably conservative estimate. I had likely worked with over 300 young men in the previous five months. If 1,000 young men were lined up in front of me, I could not pick out the 300 with whom I had worked. If the 300 were identified for me, I would not be able to recall their names. With so many kids facing homelessness, I learned to do as much as I could to improve their immediate and long-term circumstances without waiting to discover the results. I suspect I had successes. I know I had failures. I know that some of the young men that passed through my care will become the older men I would see sleeping on the subways as I made my way home after a late shift. An emotional response to this reality would not increase my effectiveness. Therefore, I cannot say I was fazed by the impending possibility that Clarence would shortly become another discarded member of New York City's adult disabled and homeless population. It pissed me off, but only if I thought about it too much. And at the end of the day, I never found it useful to be angry.

My time at Covenant House was ending. It was not a "fun" experience, but it was worthwhile. Homelessness, especially among youth should not be as rampant as it is within our society. In fact, youth homelessness should not be a reality at all. However, it is a reality, an ugly reality, but I would rather look at it and be informed about it and have it in my face rather than remain ignorant. At the very least, I am far more educated about the ills of my society than I was previously. That is a worthwhile experience. But I still had to figure out how to bring it to a close. So I began with the obvious, what absolutely had to be done: I cleaned out my mailbox. It was early Sunday afternoon. My last day was Tuesday. I needed to clean out my mailbox.

My mailbox had become more of a storage space than a means of communication. I had resume quality paper, referrals for other services, numerous forms, flyers for activities, information concerning job opportunities, and the like. Half of it was no longer relevant and needed to be thrown away and the other half needed to be re-filed or passed along to my replacement. On top of the stack, I was surprised to find a note from the social worker reading, "Tom, as your time draws to a close, I'd like you to make Clarence your priority. Leave us with a plan. Thanks!"

My first thought was not much of a thought. It was mostly a single-word explicative, especially on a Sunday afternoon with my last day on Tuesday. I pulled Clarence's file to remind myself where we were, what we had done. I re-read the discouraging conversation between my colleague and the incredibly useful New York and Pennsylvania state departments. I read that my colleague had called the numbers provided on Clarence's school records, one listed as guardian, the other listed as "other". My colleague had documented that the guardian's number was no longer in service and the second number went to voice mail--no message was left. Not much of a lead on a Sunday afternoon.

I decided to follow-up on the phone calls and confirm their uselessness. The first number for the guardian was indeed no longer in service. I dialed the second number and received a live response, "Hello?"

"Good afternoon," I stumbled through my shock at a possible breakthrough. "My name is Tom and I'm a resident advisor with Covenant House Youth Services in New York City. I'm calling in regard to a young man, a client of ours, and you have recently been identified as a contact person for him. I'm hoping you'll be able to provide some information that may help us help him." At this time, I have no idea, other than a name, of whom I'm speaking to or of what role she has played in Clarence's life.

"Oh, I always tell these young men to let me know when they're going to use me as a reference so I can be prepared. Who are you calling about?"

I explained Covenant House to her and provided the relevant information about Clarence's identify and situation. Her response was less than favorable.

"The name sounds a little familiar, but I just can't remember this person."

Thinking that she may be a school counselor or social worker, I wondered if she would have useful records at her office, where she would likely not be on a Sunday afternoon. I inquired about her profession.

"I'm actually in real estate, but I often find myself helping people."

"And you're absolutely sure you don't recognize his name or even know how your name has come to be listed on his school records as an alternate contact?"

"No. I'm sorry. I don't."

My initial excitement faded quickly, but I was unwilling to let her go. There must be some connection and we were missing it.

"Thank you for your time and I am sorry to be bothering you on a Sunday afternoon, but I'm wondering if you might recognize the name of the young man's guardian. Any information that you could provide will be incredibly useful. Do you know...?"

"Oh my God! Of course! How could I forget! She's my best friend! That's her son! He's been missing since Mother's Day!"

To the realtor's credit, Clarence did not share his mother's last name. But after we were able to make the connection, I was able to confirm that Clarence had been living with his biological mother whose residence he left just after Mother's Day, who, according to this family friend, had been "worried sick" about her son's departure, and that I would be able to contact the mother. In fact, my initial conversation with the real estate broker ended with, "I just left Sally at church. I'm going to her house right now to let her know we found her son! I should be there in ten minutes. I'll call you back!"

This was, indeed, a major breakthrough. However, I was not unaware of our suspicions of abuse against Clarence. As I waited for the call back, I went on the search for Clarence to get another feel from him regarding his previous living situation. Fortunately, he was in the building.

"Tell me again what your home was like before you came here."

"It was like a train."

It was always useful to have a sense of humor when speaking with Clarence. "Okay, what was it like before the train?"

"It was like a house."

Touché. "Did you like living in that house?"

"Yeah."

"Would you like to go back to living in that house?"

"I don't think I can."

"How come?"

"I don't think my mom will let me."

"How come?"

"She's mad at me."

"Why is she mad at you?"

"Because I left."

"If I were to call your mom, would you want me to ask if you could come back home?"

"You can't call her."

"Why can't I call her?"

"The number don't work."

"Okay, but if I were able to talk to her, would you want me to ask her if you could come home?"

"Are you going to call her."

"I'm going to try... So if I do talk to her, do you want me to ask if you can come home?"

"Yeah."

"You're sure that's okay? Because if you don't want me to, I won't ask."

"Yeah."

"It's okay for me to ask?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. I want you to go watch television, and DO NOT leave the floor."

"Okay."

Clarence consistently spoke with a flat affect. Some emotion was betrayed by his facial expressions, but we had to pay close attention as he would never make eye contact. During this conversation, there was too little evidence for a confident conclusion, but I did not detect any fear or any hesitation. The only thing that I possibly detected, and only if I were forced to give it a name, was hope.

Ten minutes turned into four hours due to Clarence's mother not being home, cell phones being lost, and batteries going dead. Is there never enough drama? Eventually, late Sunday evening, I had Clarence's mother on the phone. She was ecstatic. I managed to have her tell me the story at least twice of how Clarence had come to be in our keeping. The only thing she seemed to be struggling with was her excitement that he was safe. I asked if she would like to speak with her son.

"Oh God, yes!"

It only took me a moment to locate Clarence as he was still watching television. "Clarence, I have your mother on the phone. Would you like to speak with her?"

"Yeah."

I put Clarence on the line with his mother and imagined the conversation (as I could only hear one side).

"Oh, Clarence, baby, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, ma."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, ma."

"Baby, are you coming home?"

"I'm coming home, ma."

"You're coming home?"

"I'm coming home, ma."

"Where have you been?"

"I been with Tom, ma."

"Where?"

"With Tom, ma."

"Baby, I want you to come home."

"I'm coming home, ma."

After Clarence provided assurance to both his mother and me that he wanted to go home, we began to make travel arrangements for him back to Pennsylvania. I felt more confident when I saw a small tear begin to form in his eye while he was speaking to his mother. Because it was a Sunday and because Clarence's mother did not have the ability to provide financial assistance to their reunification, I would have to wait till Monday to seek the funds from our financial officer. As one final consideration, in regard to our initial suspicion of abuse, we asked Clarence's mother to provide a written statement to the effect that she was his biological mother and legal guardian and to provide identification. She was more than willing to do so and had the document faxed to us by Monday afternoon. It was touching to see in her references that she had failed to register the name "Covenant House" and referred to the agency as "Angel House". On Tuesday, Clarence boarded a bus for home.

Every day I spent at Covenant House was worthwhile. Like I said, I would rather be aware of and be disgusted by the worst atrocities of my society, if nothing else, so that I am better equipped to address them. But I did not mind the occasional joy of putting a kid on a bus back home to his mother.