She has lived in public housing most of her life. Her ex-boyfriend, the father of two of her three kids, once cracked herskull with a weight. He tried to strangle her with a phone cord. Theabuse went on for years.
The man, a drug addict, never paid his dealers, so they came afterMoore instead. She spent much of her time at home, protecting herapartment and children.
The old boyfriend is in prison now, but life remains tough. Moorehas lived off welfare for 14 years, but her cash benefits soon willend, and she has never held a job.
The Chicago Housing Authority has tried to help Moore, tried toshow her the way to a better life.
A counselor at a new social service center at the Ida B. WellsHomes on the Near South Side sat down with her. She urged Moore totry domestic-abuse counseling. She urged her to enroll her childrenin an after-school program.
Moore turned her down.
"I got so much on my mind, I'm not ready to make that step," shesaid recently, days before her 30th birthday. "I'll get around toit."
Two years ago, the CHA promised to make an effort, unprecedentedin scope, to help people like Linda Moore. It pledged to transformpublic housing--rebuilding not just the bricks and mortar but thetenants themselves, helping to change the way the hard-core poorlive, work and even think.
But, as Moore's story suggests, it's not working for the hardestcases. Success stories exist, but they tend to feature tenants whowere self-starters--people who came looking for help.
It may be that the CHA, nobly but naively, took on an impossiblejob. Or it may be too soon to say. The CHA's key program to linkresidents with jobs, day care or counseling is only seven months old--and changing lives takes time.
But the early evidence appears to show that the CHA has failed tomake a legitimate effort, launching a program so underfunded andunderstaffed that it was destined to fail.
"If people have developed anti-social behavior over threegenerations, it'll take more than we have to get them into mainstreamsociety," said a top administrator associated with the program, oneof many who didn't want to be identified for fear of jeopardizingtheir CHA contracts. "This raises questions about the CHA'scommitment.... The level of commitment isn't there."
And meanwhile, the clock is ticking.
The CHA's high-rises are coming down, and, under new rules,families will have to meet tough lease requirements to get housingelsewhere. At a minimum, they'll have to pay rent, keep a clean houseand avoid breaking the law while in temporary housing. And at somemixed-income communities the CHA plans to build, the bar will behigher. Tenants may be required to take drug tests and hold a job.
Many current CHA tenants, including Moore, conceivably may notmake it. They could end up on the streets.
How it works
The CHA's "Service Connector" program starts with a simplepremise. Set up 25 small centers, one each at most of the city'sfamily developments. Staff them with residents and social workprofessionals who know the social services nearby. Get residents tocome in and talk about what they need--be it day care, job trainingor rehab--and then send them out to get help.
But so far, the program seems to have missed a major chunk offamilies. It has little to offer for people who can't or won't askfor help, people limited by illiteracy, heroin abuse and criminalrecords.
This could be as many as 40 percent of the people still living inthe projects, several experts said.
"This is the underbelly," said Benjamin J. Kendrick, a veteransocial service provider and head of the Marcy-Newberry Association,one of six agencies hired to run the Service Connector centers."We're seeing the neediest of the needy."
The program also excludes a major segment of the CHA's troubledpopulation--squatters who live illegally with relatives.
CHA officials insist it's too early to judge the new ServiceConnector program, but they point out that in seven months it hasdirected 5,700 families to various social services and linked 700residents with full-time or part-time jobs. Other observers applaudthe CHA's efforts thus far, saying the agency and the city Departmentof Human Services, which manages the $5.9 million Service Connectorprogram, are tackling problems that were ignored for decades.
CHA officials also stress that the Service Connector programallows for refinements along the way. A roving group of case workers,for example, will start scouring a few of the housing developmentsthis year, trying to root out the toughest cases.
"Those are the ones you have to go and get and invest heavy, heavyresources--but even then you don't know if they'll follow through,"said Isabel Blanco, who oversees the program for the CHA. "Thisprogram doesn't say we're going to make you."
A success story
Rossanna Wyatt is one of the people who came looking for help.
For years, she struggled with depression and alcohol. At 32 yearsold, she simply couldn't imagine a better life.
"I really felt that I was stuck over here with no way out," saidWyatt, who lives in the Lathrop Homes on the North Side.
But after seeing a flier about the Service Connector program,Wyatt agreed to meet with a case manager. With his help, she wentinto counseling for her drinking problem and sent one of her two sonsto anger-management classes.
She also found a job with a private company, signing up publichousing families for health benefits. After a decade stockinggroceries and working security, it's her first job with real careerpotential.
"I've never had anything like this in the neighborhood," Wyattsaid, a soft smile spreading across her round face during a visit toher Service Connector center. "I spent a lot of time here. I reallyneeded someone to lean on."
Like Wyatt, many women are already better off because of theService Connector program. Some didn't need much help. But lookingahead to the challenge of reaching people like Linda Moore, theassessments turn grim.
"There is no evidence that a system like this will do it," saidToby Herr, a senior researcher at the Erikson Institute who created anationally recognized welfare-to-work model. "From the CHAperspective this program seems major, but from the family'sperspective it doesn't do the trick."
Herr questions the CHA's logic, saying the entrenched, overlappingproblems many people face can't be solved by isolating each one andshipping someone off to get them fixed.
And if you're going to try it, says the Metropolitan PlanningCouncil, you need a lot more bodies. With 112 staff positions forabout 12,000 families, the ratio of families to workers is about 105to one, three to four times higher than in successful programs,according to the council.
The prognosis is at its bleakest on the State Street corridor. Thetwo firms that manage the Service Connector offices took too long tohire staff and get organized, Blanco said, and they didn't do a goodjob documenting what they were up to. Other critics say the firmshired unqualified staff.
Blanco said both firms have been doing better since January,hooking more people up with jobs and social services. A reporter'svisit to two sites run by The Woodlawn Organization showed thatimprovements had been made since a fall visit. But at the RobertTaylor Homes, a William Moorehead & Associates site, many residentshad never heard of the Service Connector centers.
Last month, Moorehead's Al Burns explained that he was stillunderstaffed because his firm had not been paid in months. Cityofficials denied that. Soon after, Burns reported getting a payment.He added staff early this month.
Money matters
More money won't guarantee success for Burns' firm or any other.But it could improve the odds.
More money could translate into help for CHA squatters, people whodouble up illegally with family members. The CHA is limited by thefederal government from spending money on squatters and isnegotiating to get around that. By some estimates, 10,000 or morepeople are living off the books.
Extra money could buy more case managers--professionalsexperienced in helping people take the small steps needed to startanew. The Mid-America Institute on Poverty looked at the ServiceConnector program last year and recommended increasing the number ofcase managers to 96 from 35.
In that study, researchers concluded that at least 25 percent ofthe people left in the projects would likely need intensive help fromcase managers to deal with mental illness, substance abuse ordomestic violence. Several experienced Service Connector managerssuspect that rate could be as high as 40 percent.
Now, most centers have one or two case managers, and one socialworker serves several developments. About half of the workers areresidents. They have the advantage of being able to gain the trust ofother residents, but most have limited professional experience.
Blanco said there are plenty of caseworkers available through thecity's network of agencies and insists that residents are thoroughlyinterviewed to assess their needs before they are sent out for help.
But critics maintain there aren't enough quality programs forresidents to be sent to, particularly if they are ex-offenders ordrug addicts. The city has encouraged the agencies it funds to makeCHA families a priority, but many say it's not happening fast enough.It may take time, Blanco responded, but word is coming straight fromthe mayor's office to make room for CHA residents.
"We've thrown money at problems for a long time," she said, notingthe $190 million the city spends on social services annually. "Everyavailable service has to be aligned. That's different than saying theCHA needs more money."
For now, no one can say for sure whether residents are getting theservices they need. Over the next few months, the CHA will begintracking people after they are sent to a job training program or torehab. This new system will let the CHA know if the programs havespace and how many people are actually following through.
"When this program kicked off, we recognized that we didn't knoweverything about what would be required to serve residentsadequately," said Wgoan Le, a city Department of Human Servicesdeputy commissioner. "For me, it's putting in place a minimuminfrastructure that would, at least, respond to a group that comes in[on their own]. What we need to do is build on that infrastructure."
But will it be too little, too late?
"Many residents have reached such a low level that there is noconnection with positive streams of the community," Kendrick said."There has been a mind-set that you can stay in public housingforever. People have created a mentality that is now totallyunacceptable.
"We're trying to tell them," he added, "that this is the lasttrain."
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