indigence and mental illness are putting more people on the Seacoast’s streets, starting a cycle that’s nearly impossible to break

A bulldozer recently ripped apart a makeshift dwelling next to North Mill Pond in Portsmouth. Transients had used the small hut as a place to congregate and stay dry during foul weather. But it was located on private property, and area residents complained of noise and rampant alcohol consumption at the site. Police were left with little choice but to remove the dwelling, putting its indigent occupants back on the streets.

Police, jail officials and homeless advocates are pressed from all sides to “do something” about the unsightliness, petty crimes and sometimes threatening behavior associated with the local homeless population. But no one, not even the experts who convened a panel discussion in Dover recently, has yet devised a solution. The fierce grip of homelessness comes with stigmatization that alienates the homeless from the rest of mainstream society, and misconceptions about homeless people, coupled with a lack of state resources to deal with the problem, make the cycle difficult to break.

A number of recent incidents confirm statistics that indicate the problem of homelessness is getting worse on the Seacoast, touching nearly everyone’s daily lives.

Alexander Boros never understood what would compel a person to sleep in a cardboard box until he had to sleep in one himself. The New Hampshire native found himself in southern California one chilly winter, with no money, no friends and no place to stay.

“It was explained to me when I was homeless that it’s the corrugation in the cardboard which makes for insulation, and also your body heat is trapped in the box,” Boros explained in a recent interview. “There were nights when I would scrounge around dumpsters wherever I was and look for cardboard boxes that were big enough for me to sleep in that night.”

Although Boros is no longer homeless, his life story reveals a typical pattern of gradual decline, fueled by depression, mental illness and poverty, that often leads to homelessness. He managed to eke by for years before he found himself on the streets, but once he hit rock bottom, the prospects of returning to an ordinary life seemed formidably dim.

Diagnosed with bipolar disorder while attending the University of New Hampshire, Boros’s mental health was in a state of rapid deterioration during the fall semester of 1997. The Nashua native suffered flashbacks of childhood trauma and eventually became delusional. He suffered his first serious episode of mental illness during a visit to his mother’s home in Albuquerque, N.M., that winter. After dropping his mother off at work one day, he stole her car and drove aimlessly across state lines, guided by delusions of divine inspiration.

“I just drove for like three days and three nights through the Southwest in the Four Corners area,” Boros said. “It was totally insane. I was out of touch with reality.”

After stealing food and gasoline at a gas station in Arizona, Boros soon had a number of police cruisers on his tail. A lengthy chase ensued, during which Boros maneuvered around two police blockades. A cruiser eventually rammed his vehicle from behind and sent him spinning into a ditch, bringing the chase to an end.

“They all came out and had their guns pointed at my head, and they pulled me out of the car and hauled me off to jail,” Boros said.

He spent several weeks in a county jail in Flagstaff, Ariz., where, in the midst of his delusion, he refused to eat, drink water, or even wear clothing. A couple of friends intervened on his behalf, and authorities soon realized that he suffered from mental illness. The four felony charges against him were dropped, and Boros was handed a bus ticket back to Albuquerque.

But his problems were just beginning. Not content to live with his mother in New Mexico, Boros hitchhiked to Los Angeles, where he experienced his first true bout of homelessness. “I can remember one night I couldn’t find a cardboard box and I slept outside,” he said. “It was below freezing, and I wound up catching pneumonia.”

He sometimes stayed at shelters, but they were not always easy to come by. He eventually made his way to San Francisco, where the city’s welfare department bought him a bus ticket to New Hampshire. He arrived in Portsmouth a few days later, but he says there were no beds available at the city’s homeless shelter, the Cross Roads House. His first night back in the Granite State, Boros snuck into an office building and slept on the floor.

Over the next couple of years, Boros continually grappled with homelessness and mental illness, bouncing between the Cross Roads House, My Friend’s Place in Dover, and the Memorial Union Building in Durham. He occasionally found low-paying jobs, but was unable to hold them because of his untreated mental condition. Boros did not have health insurance and could not afford medication.

Then came his second major episode. On a sunny spring day in 1999, Boros hopped into a garbage truck he found idling in a parking lot at Pease Tradeport. Believing that he was guided by the will of God, he drove the truck all the way to upstate New York, where he was arrested, thrown in jail and charged with a felony count of theft.

The charge was later reduced to a misdemeanor, but with no money for bail, Boros spent a couple of months in jail. Upon his release, he returned to New Hampshire with three years of probation looming over his head. Boros applied for Social Security and visited the welfare department in Dover, where he rented a room in a dingy rooming house. He also sought mental health counseling, and doctors determined he had been suffering from bipolar disorder since at least 1994. This made him eligible for a hefty retroactive Social Security check, covering his disability expenses for the previous five years. Boros used the money to buy a used car and rent an apartment in Rochester, where the 37-year-old resides today. He now has a private doctor and therapist and is receiving the medication he needs to combat his mental illness. He lives off Social Security and federally subsidized housing, but still has numerous debts.

Boros wonders if he would have been able to receive such benefits if he had been convicted of a felony. Some homeless shelters do not accept people who have been convicted of crimes, and it is difficult for felons to receive welfare benefits in many communities.

A self-proclaimed “peacenik” with a bachelor’s degree in English, Boros exemplifies how an ordinary person can fall into a pit of desperation that can seem impossible to escape. Nationwide, thousands, if not millions, of people are wallowing in the same pit, and they do not know how to get out.

Today, Boros emphasizes the need for affordable housing and more social programs for the mentally ill and indigent. Above all else, he urges police and citizens to be aware of the issue and practice compassion. People should not be punished for being mentally ill or homeless, he says. Instead, they should be able seek help.

“I know that I’m not alone in having a mental illness and I know that I’m not alone in being caught in the labyrinth of the criminal justice system,” Boros said. “I know that there are ways for a person to fall through the cracks.”
 
“We have a huge problem with homelessness in this area,” said Nancy Lawrence, executive director of the Homeless Center for Strafford County in Rochester. “These people are not from far away. They’re from Rochester, they’re from Farmington, they’re from Dover.”

Lawrence was one of four featured speakers at a forum on homelessness at the Dover Public Library on Tuesday, April 17. Joining her were Bob O’Connell, executive director of My Friend’s Place in Dover; Pati Frew-Waters, network director for the Seacoast Interfaith Hospitality Network in Stratham; and Jack Buckley, executive director of the Dover Housing Authority. All three stressed that the homeless population consists of everyday people who are driven to desperation by simple circumstances. They also stressed that the problem is getting worse on the Seacoast.

“I’ve just seen a lot of changes in the homeless population. Each year it grows more and more,” Lawrence said. 

“Homelessness is one of those things nobody wants to talk about, but here it is,” Frew-Waters added.

A recent study conducted by the state Department of Health and Human Services’ Office of Homeless, Housing and Transportation found that an estimated 1,300 homeless people were living in New Hampshire in January, up 56 from last year. Of that number, 282 lived in Strafford and Rockingham counties. A large percentage of those individuals suffer from mental illnesses and are unable to get the treatment they need.

Private businesses provide most of the services available to homeless people on the Seacoast, but many area officials feel the state must do more to help homeless, mentally ill and addicted individuals get their lives on track.

On April 11, the Portsmouth Department of Public Works demolished the small hut constructed from railroad ties, plywood and tarps that was located next to the railroad tracks between Brewster Street and North Mill Pond. The hut had served as a makeshift shelter for area transients, but all that remained of the structure the following day was a heap of wood and ripped tarps, a few soggy articles of clothing, a couple of blankets and a sea of empty liquor bottles.

Portsmouth Police Chief Michael Magnant said his department asked Public Works to demolish the hut because neighborhood residents repeatedly complained of loud noise and drunken behavior at night. But homeless people have constructed far more elaborate shelters in other parts of the city. Magnant said his officers have seen dwellings complete with furniture and exercise equipment, some surrounded by trip wires to alert the occupants to approaching authorities.

“Some of them are downright creative and ingenious,” Magnant said.

While makeshift shelters are typically tucked away in the woods, some have been constructed in plain view of city streets. Transients occasionally squat in vacant or deserted buildings, sometimes even installing their own locks on the doors. In addition to creating a nuisance for nearby residents, unauthorized homeless camps can pose a number of health risks.

“Many of these camps we find are contaminated with human waste, used prophylactics, used syringes, never mind the litter and debris, and many times just tons and tons of empty alcoholic beverage bottles,” Magnant said.

The chief was not aware of any specific laws prohibiting people from camping in the woods, although landowners can request to have unwelcome guests removed from private property. The hut torn down on April 11 stood on land owned by B&W Railroads, who have given police permission to patrol the property.

“Most of the private property owners, they don’t want the liability of having these camps on their property, so they’re very cooperative,” Magnant said.

Brewster Street has been an area of particular concern for police. On March 12, police arrested 51-year-old William J. Dawley after he allegedly fondled a 16-year-old girl at knifepoint in his room at the Brewster Street rooming house. In response, residents held a meeting to address safety issues in the neighborhood.

But other residents find the police activity obtrusive. Bea Weathersbee, who lives on Brewster Street, said she was lying on a stone wall in Rock Street Park on a Sunday afternoon in March as her four children played nearby.

“I heard somebody walking up to me and it didn’t sound like the kids, so I opened my eyes and there were two cops standing there looking down at me,” she said.

The police asked Weathersbee what she was doing in the park, and when she explained that she was simply relaxing with her kids, they brusquely told her there was a citywide ordinance against lying down in public. The officers said a neighbor had called to complain that someone was sleeping in the park.

Weathersbee suspects the incident stemmed from a police effort to crack down on transients before tourist season begins. During the three years she has lived on Brewster Street, she said she has never felt threatened by the homeless population at the nearby railroad tracks.

“I never hear anything from down there,” she said. “The people I see down there are walking their dogs or going on walks with their kids. It to me seems like a safe neighborhood place to go.”

But Magnant said his department has received frequent complaints from other residents in the area. In order to avoid accusations of selective enforcement, police may be forced to keep all residents away from the tracks by North Mill Pond.

“Technically you’re not supposed to be walking on active railroad beds,” Magnant said.

Although Magnant acknowledged that the homeless population becomes more visible as summer approaches, he said police want to assist—not persecute—indigent people.  Officers typically refer nonviolent homeless people to the Cross Roads House or a mental health facility.

“The officers have a lot of compassion,” Magnant said. “What’s happened in society is police have become the caretakers of last resort for the chronically homeless or mentally ill or addicted.”

Dealing with the homeless population can create a burden for officers who must respond to complaints from property and business owners. Homeless individuals sometimes spend hours inside coffee shops or pubs to keep warm, and aggressive panhandling occasionally occurs. Portsmouth has an ordinance against panhandling, but it is rarely enforced, Magnant said. An ordinance against sleeping on public benches is only occasionally enforced, he added.

Due to budget constraints, officers in Portsmouth receive minimal training on how to deal with the chronically homeless and mentally ill, Magnant said. When the department receives a report of a person acting strangely in public, police sometimes administer Breathalyzer tests to determine whether the subject is intoxicated. They then must decide whether to take the individual into protective custody or direct them to a shelter or mental health facility.

“There’s been actually no increase in our training budget for some time, and yet the demands continue to increase,” Magnant said.

The homeless problem appears to be less serious in surrounding communities like Dover. Dover Police Chief Anthony Colarusso said his city has a “very small homeless population.” Although business owners occasionally report unwanted individuals lingering in their establishments for long periods of time, the homeless population is not responsible for much crime in the city. “It just has not been a significant problem here,” Colarusso said.

While Colarusso feels the level of services available to the homeless is adequate in Dover, Magnant has found that a lack of services for the homeless—especially those afflicted with mental illness—ties up resources for his department. Without proper medication and counseling, both diagnosed and undiagnosed mentally ill or addicted individuals can create threatening situations. Although they do not always belong in jail, officers are left with no other recourse than to arrest them.

In addition to burdening officers, the homeless problem drains resources at correctional facilities. Al Wright, superintendent of the Rockingham County House of Corrections in Brentwood, said a significant number of his inmates are homeless, and most of them come from Portsmouth.

Like Magnant, Wright has been pushing for enhanced services for the region’s mentally ill and homeless. There are limited beds at mental health facilities and state hospitals, he said, and homeless people often turn to crime as a last resort.

“If a guy steals a sandwich, it’s kind of a shame to see him come to jail, but it happens,” Wright said.

Upon being released from jail, many prisoners confess they have no place else to go, Wright said. Many of them lack valid forms of identification, and therefore cannot apply for benefit programs. Some hang on to their jail I.D. bracelets so that they have some form of personal identification. But many return to the streets, which only exacerbates mental illness, and before long they get picked up for something else.

“Certainly there’s a lot of people falling through the cracks,” Wright said. “I’m dealing with many people that should not be in my custody.”

Rockingham County House of Corrections has a mental health counselor and an on-call psychologist, but some inmates do not get the medical attention they require. Wright and other jail officials are working to improve prerelease programs so that homeless inmates have a place to go when they leave the jail. But such programs put a heavy strain on places like Cross Roads House, and many people wind up back on the streets.

There are an estimated 6.5 million homeless people nationwide, according Phil MacDonald, homeless outreach coordinator for the Strafford County Community Action Program. In New Hampshire, MacDonald noted, a homeless person is defined as anyone without a permanent domicile. Although the general public prefers to think of transients as lazy addicts who deserve to be homeless, the prevailing stereotypes are false.

“Some of these people are educated. They’re not shiftless bums,” MacDonald said. “The average homeless person is not the stereotype that a lot of people would like to think they are. They’re not alcoholics and drug addicts. The highest population of homelessness is children, and the second is the elderly.”

To Boros, who has now had a roof over his head for about seven years, the solution to the homeless problem must come through tolerance and forgiveness. “The problem with homelessness in general is rooted in the very structure of society,” he said, noting landlords and other businesspeople all too often pursue profits at the expense of others. “It’s imperative that we forgive ourselves and each other.”